This is a confession she has no right to have— that lies in a deep, private place where Cen’s teeth are drawn, his spirit spent. She flinches against it, and paradoxically feels its sting replicated where nescience had become an invitation to longing; to the secret expressions of her most inchoate and primal desires.
“How can you believe so little of yourself?” The pale neck arcs, face bowing to search his aching eye like starlit glass, for this went against all great worthiness Iglux̂ saw in him. But she preferred this still; heat. Anger. Rather painful truths than kind lies.
She understands then that their first night had been merely a passionate illusion. She’d allowed an appetite for him to speak for their spirits. Ice raven had not sung for them. There was nothing divinely fated in their entwining.
But it was not sane, or even realistic to try to live as though she should never dream.
The heart did not follow any rationale; it bled where it bled.
Her’s bled for Cen.
The glimmer in his star stills. Now she must know— now, that his heart spoke beyond that thickening veil of ice.
“Will you hurt me, Cen?”
“How can you believe so little of yourself?” The pale neck arcs, face bowing to search his aching eye like starlit glass, for this went against all great worthiness Iglux̂ saw in him. But she preferred this still; heat. Anger. Rather painful truths than kind lies.
She understands then that their first night had been merely a passionate illusion. She’d allowed an appetite for him to speak for their spirits. Ice raven had not sung for them. There was nothing divinely fated in their entwining.
But it was not sane, or even realistic to try to live as though she should never dream.
The heart did not follow any rationale; it bled where it bled.
Her’s bled for Cen.
The glimmer in his star stills. Now she must know— now, that his heart spoke beyond that thickening veil of ice.
“Will you hurt me, Cen?”
