don't let me drag you down here to my level

Gabriel de le Poer · 02-15-2010, 11:51 PM

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A subtle motion caught his eye, and Gabriel watched her. He did not move—not yet. He recalled his daughter, and his son, when they had been so wounded. Both had flinched from his touch, and he was hesitant to see this happen again. His dark hair, hair that had darkened so much since last summer, fell around his face and shadowed it from the firelight. Rikka’s eyes turned glassy, and her pupils dilated to where they were nearly the same size of the iris. Then, and only then, did she begin to cry. Every fiber in Gabriel’s being was torn in two; one side demanded blood, and the other demanded he comfort his sister. Even with the years and distance put between them, their bond was strong; stronger then he expected, given how quickly Gabriel could (and certainly had) turn on his own family.

But he shifted, quietly, and lowered the bottle to her side. He sat next to her, but did not touch her yet. Instead, he made a low, soft whine in his throat, as if to reassure her of his presence. Then, and only then, did he speak. “I need you to sit up,” he said quietly, shifting his own weight. “This,” he said, touching the bottle at his side. “, will help with the pain.” Not all of it, and not what went beyond the surface, but it would dull the ache and settle the thoughts that he had no doubt were racing through her head.

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