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it is good that evelyn's dragonite is as bloodthirsty and as hungry for violence as the woman that commands it. their monsters are extensions of themselves—massive flying beast craving for destruction, massive heart hunting for some glimmer of fulfillment, remnants of a pregnant chemist clinging to the corpse of her rotten, murdered heart. while the dragonite is engrossed in a brawl, absinthe is losing herself in memories, flooded with the pain of the past and the reality of the present.[break][break]

evelyn is the second person to know what lies beneath the mask. howard slayte was the first, but absinthe did not show him her face because of a wealth of trust or compassion—rather, as an explanation for why she is broken, why she shattered at the power spot. absinthe doesn't know why, but she shows evelyn her face because she wants to.[break][break]

to absinthe's surprise, when evelyn draws close, absinthe doesn't instinctively flinch away. her rational mind, mired with distrust and paranoia, seems paralyzed by the tenderness that flows between the two women—the desolate void in absinthe's chest shimmering weakly with warmth. so, rather than snapping back with cruel words, absinthe finds herself paralyzed as evelyn's fingertips graze against the mangled remains of her mouth.[break][break]

a muscle jumps in her jaw. "misery loves company," she rasps, but there is no maliciousness to her tone, nor any vitriol to her words. instead, it is almost a tired sort of question, or perhaps a statement of resignation, a weak inquiry into this soft connection they are somehow still nursing. the phrase is painful, and true. no one else could understand her pain as intimately as evelyn could, and yet no one else could possibly realize this understanding. it doesn't make her burdens lighter. absinthe could never allow such a thing to happen. she only knows how to lose herself in the torture that life has made for her, at least for now.[break][break]

she hesitates, then, on impulse, reaches up to evelyn's cheek, gently pressing her gloved thumb to the delicate skin there. even now, absinthe is barely cognizant of the fact that she is allowing herself to entertain such foolish thoughts. she, cruel and distant as she is, does not know how to love. but there is a painful familiarity to this tenderness—a reminder of the life she used to have, the friendships she used to keep. "it's almost worse," she muses, "knowing i'm still capable of such things."[break][break]

knowing she still has enough humanity for it to be worth killing.[break][break]

her hand falls away from evelyn's face, and she busies herself with smoothing out her coat, if only to have a moment to make sense of her thoughts. she could draw evelyn into her schemes of revenge against the government, offer her a place at her side. they could burn everything that has wronged them together.[break][break]

"if you wanted to forget all of this, you could walk away and never see me again," she says quietly. "but if you don't... i want to burn down the world with you. the world hasn't seen the last of me. and if you want your revenge, it won't see the last of you, either."

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