09-08-2011, 07:28 PM
Even though his arms were clasped tightly behind his back, she wrapped her arms around his waist. For a moment, his resolve wavered. The sweet scent of her rose to his nostrils, and he drank it in deeply. And then she stepped away. She had asked him a question, he belatedly remembered. About the flames. His voice remained the same monotone when he answered. "They expect me to destroy the evil ones, to purify them in flames. It would release their souls to the butterflies, to cleanse their evil from the land."
His shadowed eyes watched hers, the warmth of before refusing to return. "I don't trust myself around you, Ayasha. You are everything pure and good. But if they have a hold of me... I don't know what might happen." His voice cracked for a moment, his inner turmoil seeping through. "They don't like it that anyone can override them. You can make me strong, but if that fails... I don't want to lose you."
He didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to stay, to climb up into the tree he'd been lounging in and see the butterfly he'd carved into it. He had thousands of things he wanted to ask her about. He didn't dare ask her to stay, didn't dare subject her to the pain he would eventually cause her. Conflict roiled through him like a turbulent summer storm. His golden eyes dropped to her feet again, his shoulders sagging minutely, subconscious gestures of defeat. If she pressed, he would grudgingly relent. He didn't think she would, though. Why, no matter how much she cared, would she deliberately subject herself to his insanity?
His shadowed eyes watched hers, the warmth of before refusing to return. "I don't trust myself around you, Ayasha. You are everything pure and good. But if they have a hold of me... I don't know what might happen." His voice cracked for a moment, his inner turmoil seeping through. "They don't like it that anyone can override them. You can make me strong, but if that fails... I don't want to lose you."
He didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to stay, to climb up into the tree he'd been lounging in and see the butterfly he'd carved into it. He had thousands of things he wanted to ask her about. He didn't dare ask her to stay, didn't dare subject her to the pain he would eventually cause her. Conflict roiled through him like a turbulent summer storm. His golden eyes dropped to her feet again, his shoulders sagging minutely, subconscious gestures of defeat. If she pressed, he would grudgingly relent. He didn't think she would, though. Why, no matter how much she cared, would she deliberately subject herself to his insanity?