she had disrobed, and she was waiting on the floor

China Rose Lykoi · 01-20-2011, 10:50 AM

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SoSuWriMo: 463

She heard his first response, but having already thought it aloud in her head, found no surprise in the simple declination. No, he would not hurt her, not this day. Another, perhaps, when he had finished his metamorphosis. Only time would tell of such things.

Her elegant ears, usually so mirthfully poised atop a grey-showered crown, were now lying in flattened dejection as the girl circled thoughts in her head. She stewed on this newest situation, lost to her own queerly absent surges of guilt, almost forgetting entirely the catalyst for this newest twist of fate. He sat beside her still, but in China's mind, she sat alone.

The girl would never have thought herself as selfish, and nor would have those that admired her so. But in her heart, China was such a thing. She thought of those who she loved as irreplaceable to the construction of her own world, and thus precious; A strangely warped perception of the love-induced coma her world was supposed to be. How Itachi fit into this parody of affection, the silvery princess was not yet sure. She had begun to disturb herself with a lack of emotional response, and so the golden traitor's question was almost a relief.

She blinked, startled from these innermost collisions, and pulled that pupil-wide stare back to him. For a moment, she studied him in silence; Studied him hard, weighing up each facet of his face, each drop of pinprick blood in his rose eyes. They held no threat, merely the mild curiosity she expected to see if he were to ask of the weather. This upset her far more than his admission had.

One hand moved of it's own accord to grip his arm in a surprisingly vice-like hold, if he would allow it. Her eyes, usually permitting such an unpleasant emotion as fear, now shone with it. Not fear of him, though; fear of the condemnation that would await her, on confession to the family she had left behind to see him this day. "They must not know, Itachi," her face was drawn tight with the horror of such thoughts, "I would be banished, as you are. I could not survive, knowing their loathing of me. They Must. Not. Know." It was love she survived on; love she fed off of. Without it, the songbird would surely lose her voice forever.

It was as if the contemplation of such events exhausted her. Never did she think of potential exile as being trapped with him - It was more a forceful separation from those she required to remain as she was. Outside, small snowflakes had began to fall; through the stained window China's gaze traced their spiralling descent into the abysmal gloom below.

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