beautiful killer you won't leave a trace

POSTED: Mon Jul 09, 2018 10:25 pm

When he awoke the bed was cold.

He had lain with his eyes closed while his scarred hands explored the peaks and valleys that the blankets made only to come up empty handed. It was if the space Etoile had occupied sagged with the memory of her, and his fingers could make out only the indentations of where she had lain.

The cabin was like that for days – painfully empty as he continued his patrols… all of them alone and with the hope that she would return.

He asked Adelia to search her out, but the tiny cat could find nothing – no one had seen her or heard from the mercenary in days.

Brocade wondered if perhaps his wordless response to her proposal had driven a wedge between them, though as he had made love to her on the counter he had never once seen an ounce of dismissal in her silver eyes. He had finally come to accept that perhaps this was what his life was now – a gathering of guilt-ridden choices that would He rolled it over and over in his mind, gathering the pieces of her that had been left about his cabin so that they lay across his counter.

They were like breadcrumbs that lead nowhere.

***

The wolf wandered the blackwood’s like a predator, swinging his shaggy head to and fro as he completed his patrol. It was a patrol where his mind wandered further than his feet, the memories of his time spent with Etoile roiling in his gut and causing uncomfortable heat to spread through him.

He felt guilty for not truly loving her.

He felt guilty for killing Ferdinand.

There were wax candles thrust up amongst the thick canopy and down below between the curling roots, and he followed them subconsciously – as if guided by some invisible hand. The further he went into the wood the more he slowed, each step laborious and sad. The broken path lead him deeper and deeper - and shadows crept alongside him that he did not see.

When he finally broken down he did not notice the hidden altar.

Brocade made a sound deep in his throat and leaned against a tree, his expression drooping as he coughed out a sob.

She had abandoned him, in the end.

Salsola
The Director
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Amanda
Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

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