Word Count → 3+ :: table © sie
The darkness still pulsed within her, somewhere deep and secret, barely swimming in the shadows cast by years of pain and toil through once-youthful emerald eyes. He knew it well; Once, she had wondered if he would destroy her for it, but he had not. He had done much, much more than offer her a simple death, and perhaps that was a show of his growing weakness and weariness of the lonely world. As much as the thought troubled her, it also gave life to a rare thrill that chased through her blood whenever he was near.
In a manner so similar to his son's, Gabriel's eyes sharpened. They were harder than Ezekiel's - They had seen much crueler things, as her own had - but alike his offspring, the Warrior-King was quick to offer her a smile. Oh, he had been so handsome once, and that smile had the ability to melt bones and fuse hearts. Now, it was a shallow figment of what the woman imagined it had once been; just as she herself were merely a shadow cast by the entity of her innocence and youth. She made to smile in return, but the expression fell away as he spoke of Zeke's previous mentor. "He told me of her," She began slowly, eyes drinking him in, pools of phosphorescent green that sought something more than what they saw, "She was very close to you, wasn't she, Gabriel," A gentle whisper. Where jealousy should have been, there was only an empty ache. They had both lost so much - So many.
His declaration was expected. Cour des Miracles would not abide by Ezekiel's constant presence, and his true place was in Inferni - The healer knew this as clearly as she saw her place in the young man's life. However, Gabriel's allowance pleased her, for although she doubted that the father could force his son to do anything, she knew it would have strained her apprentice to go against his will. To the latter of his words, a genuine smile curved about her maw, a darkly mirthful thing. "You would allow me?" Gentle, sultry laughter awarded him the viable but pretentious sentence, "I wasn't aware I needed to ask your permission, omra súile," The old nickname rolled from her tongue in jest, and emeralds sparkled a little brighter beneath their frame of dark lashes.
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