08-06-2009, 01:01 AM
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Crimson tongue snaked from his mouth to trace across the edges of his lips, thinking of the blood he’d adore to spill. Eyes the color of bloodshed gleamed with the idea, catching the faint light and longing for open wounds. But her words continued, breaking past his morbid fantasies and bringing him right back to harsh reality, where at the moment the only blood touching his lips was his own. “No, Mother,” he whispered in return, voice naturally so soft and breathless. “You’re here now—that’s all that matters to me,” the Prince of Fear continued, pulling himself closer to the warmth of Kaena. He rested his cheek against her furred flesh, reveling in the feelings that crept through his veins like deadly venom when he was so close to her. She was poisonous, and he loved every second of it, wishing to never have to tear himself away from her as he knew would soon have to. He could have been angry she’d left, and probably was, but at the moment all was forgotten, lost in his own mad, twisted little mind. Lips once so cracked and decayed curved into a smile, knowing it would be pure torture should she leave again by death or choice of action, and he didn’t wish to think of such a thing.
“Samael doesn’t wish for Kaena to leave again,” he uttered so softly, barely audible above the dull, natural exhale of breath from his lungs. He held on as though he could hold her in place forever, never letting her go through his own sheer willpower and brute force. He’d tear apart anyone that dared touch her in any manner, and could only fail in the face of her own desires, if she so chose to again leave him on her own, finding the world a far more desirable place than by his side. Shaking like a broken child, eyes closing, he turned his face to the pale pelt of her chest and belly. A burning began in his throat like some kind of sickness and at first he rebelled against it, unsure what sort of emotion was inching forth into existence, creeping through his body so unwillingly. But it broke past some invisible barrier, streaming down his eyes in hot tears as he hid his face from the silver woman, ashamed. He didn’t wish her to see the weakness and mortality that was currently so apparent on his features. He was The Prince of Fear, not some pathetic child, and yet he couldn’t hold back the emotion that was spilling down his cheeks and into her fur as he thought of again losing her.
Crimson tongue snaked from his mouth to trace across the edges of his lips, thinking of the blood he’d adore to spill. Eyes the color of bloodshed gleamed with the idea, catching the faint light and longing for open wounds. But her words continued, breaking past his morbid fantasies and bringing him right back to harsh reality, where at the moment the only blood touching his lips was his own. “No, Mother,” he whispered in return, voice naturally so soft and breathless. “You’re here now—that’s all that matters to me,” the Prince of Fear continued, pulling himself closer to the warmth of Kaena. He rested his cheek against her furred flesh, reveling in the feelings that crept through his veins like deadly venom when he was so close to her. She was poisonous, and he loved every second of it, wishing to never have to tear himself away from her as he knew would soon have to. He could have been angry she’d left, and probably was, but at the moment all was forgotten, lost in his own mad, twisted little mind. Lips once so cracked and decayed curved into a smile, knowing it would be pure torture should she leave again by death or choice of action, and he didn’t wish to think of such a thing.
“Samael doesn’t wish for Kaena to leave again,” he uttered so softly, barely audible above the dull, natural exhale of breath from his lungs. He held on as though he could hold her in place forever, never letting her go through his own sheer willpower and brute force. He’d tear apart anyone that dared touch her in any manner, and could only fail in the face of her own desires, if she so chose to again leave him on her own, finding the world a far more desirable place than by his side. Shaking like a broken child, eyes closing, he turned his face to the pale pelt of her chest and belly. A burning began in his throat like some kind of sickness and at first he rebelled against it, unsure what sort of emotion was inching forth into existence, creeping through his body so unwillingly. But it broke past some invisible barrier, streaming down his eyes in hot tears as he hid his face from the silver woman, ashamed. He didn’t wish her to see the weakness and mortality that was currently so apparent on his features. He was The Prince of Fear, not some pathetic child, and yet he couldn’t hold back the emotion that was spilling down his cheeks and into her fur as he thought of again losing her.