12-04-2009, 03:01 AM
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table by sie!
| http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/sam2.jpg); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:322px; padding-left:25px; padding-right:25px; padding-bottom:10px;"> Given the opportunity, he would have gladly leashed himself to her side, bounding his neck in a heavy leather collar and attaching himself to her side with a thick, steel chain. He didn’t need his own independent life as long as he could be loyal to her, serving her and handing her the entire world on a silver platter. He knew such things were no more than dreams in the harshness of his twisted reality, only desiring and imagining, but knowing it’d never come to pass in this lifetime. He would murder anyone that dared touch her—even glance at her in a way that didn’t quite sit right with him—tearing them apart and castrating them like the filthy dogs they were. But he hadn’t been there. He’d kept his distance, unwilling to push his sordid affections onto her as long as she didn’t wish for them. She spoke, yet the words were vague and told him absolutely nothing. Her smile was pained, weak and forced as if it would make him feel better when in truth it only agonized him further with its falsity. He wished to see her pleased, not in misery and hiding something from him. Yet she couldn’t tell him, and he felt his soul cracking—dark seams growing along an invisible path and yawning wide against the crimson of his beating heart. His hand continued to gently cradle her neck, struggling against the desire to clench into a fist, sinking his nails deep into his flesh to alleviate some of the rage and sadness coursing through him. Kaena was in pain, and he couldn’t do a god damned thing about it unless she told him some details. Yet she didn’t feel comfortable enough imparting the information to her loyal—most loyal and adoring in his mind—son, and this only worsened the black emotions seeping into his consciousness. “Tell me,” his soft voice implored, agony welling up like blood from an open wound. He would tear their throat out with his bare hands and crush their bones into powder. Face moved in closer, beseeching with crimson eyes that she at least trust him with some information—voice some of the torment so he could make it all better in any way that he could. He would slit his own throat right then and there if it’d make her smile for at least a moment. |