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❛ i could never be the one to love you. i can only be the one that kills you. ❜ @putrefacerem
she lets the silence that follows stretch, taut and trembling. notions of self-preservation died with her girlhood; war reconstructed her into a walking grave. making it off the battlefield, alive meant she's really only living on borrowed time, death lying in wait. she’s not a soldier anymore, she’s not even just a doctor. she’s the woman who lets a monster drink from her throat and bandages the bite like it doesn't mean anything. a woman who tells herself she’s doing it out of pragmatism, routine, a mutual benefit — nothing more.
gloria should feel powerful, shouldn’t she? he needs her. her blood, her pulse, her will, and he feeds because she allows it. yet somehow, mínluben is still in control. she watches him, that ruin of a mouth, those eyes that look too long and hard. like he’s piercing the depth of her soul and measuring her worth through every sin, and she pretends it doesn’t hurt. ❛ and why haven't you? ❜ maybe the tragedy is knowing she'd let him because when the teeth pierce skin, it feels like she’s needed, really needed. impossible to count how many times she'd cursed an empty sky, demanding a trade of her life for the fallen beneath her palm. under the heavy framework of her grief, to die as sustenance to life doesn't make her feel any ounce of fear. she steps closer, haunted honey gaze sought him out. near enough that the scent of ichor would invade his solitude. her neck tilts into the smoke of her challenge. ❛ what's stopping you? it's right here. ❜