HE IS VAST AND IMMOVABLE, LYING IN THE AFTERMATH,
form half-draped in ephemeral robes and shadows, like a mountain laid bare beneath the chiaroscuro of heaven's dim light. the enormity of him lingers in presence, a CITADEL of flesh and oath; his breath moves the air with weight, each exhale carries the gusts that scoured eden clean. her words come to him like arrows loosed without malice, but they find their mark; his ribcage aches with memory, with the absence carved there by both design and NECESSITY.
"I did not have to." the depth of his voice reverberates in his chambers, low and unyielding, yet tempered, as if spoken through centuries of withheld flame;
"--but obedience is my first tenet."
a stillness presses then as he gathers his thoughts, like the pause of a trumpet before it blasts the world apart. his hand stirs, brushing the hollow of his side, retracing a phantom wound as though it were scripture etched into his flesh.
"to sever it was to be undone, and to be reforged in the same instant. when they took it, I felt lessened, yes. yet ... fulfilled, too," he murmurs in remembrance, the cadence near-liturgical. "I was fractured to bring forth form, torn that another might rise. such is the echo of CREATION - to bleed, to sunder, so that more life may draw breath."
he turns then, broad shoulders eclipsing the pallid light, and his gaze lowers to her, dark as burnt bronze and catching faint glints of gold in the artificial dawn, smouldering as though her question has prised open something perilous.
"do I miss it?" he exhales, the sound like sighing embers. "--yes. the ache never truly abates. but when you move, when you speak, when you touch me … I see that not as loss, but as incarnation - for my absence became your breath, my rib became your will."
(VIOLENT desires made woman.)
his hand lingers, heavy as BENEDICTION, pressing into the linen where her hip curves beneath. the air tightens, charged with that terrible patience of his - restraint drawn out until it feels like another form of torment; then, as if his resolve at last concedes to the yearning in him, his fingers slide lower, claiming the line of her thigh through the sheets, slow enough that every breath between them sharpens into anticipation.
"but to want it back would be to unmake you."
the growl in his voice is too thick to be mistaken for tenderness, too deliberate to be innocent; then, his hand slips beneath the sheet, fingers spanning her waist as if to remind her how wholly she fits into the space once torn from him. he tightens, inexorably, until her body yields against his. control frays just enough to let her feel the caged HUNGER coiled in his hold - his wings twitch once, dark arches trembling as if they too are seized by this breaking.
"--and I will bear the wound eternally, if it means you may lie here beside me."
(you were carved from my loss, and now you lie here as the answer to it. you are the wound made flesh, my HUNGER given form.)
and still, his eyes on hers remain celestially solemn, as though every inch of her he touches is both DESECRATION and devotion.
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