“If anyone of us, out of the two of us, deserves to live it’s you,” it’s this sort of effortless torture that they create when Èdelie is keen on always keeping the door of their relationship propped open. He’s told himself, constantly, that they’ve let her go and yet their claws always seemed to be instinctively ensnared within her. It’s this sad little scuffle that is dreadful to repeat and yet both seem to be helpless passengers when it comes to ceasing the maddening dance. Eric’s words, however, are perhaps the most truthful he’s ever been to the fey. She’d endured a lot since her transformation, it’s practically customary to what she’d signed up for given the nature of the eladrin’s and their hectic political relationship with the Senate. It was an inevitable, but the feast the vampires had made of her potent blood was simply incomprehensible to Eric; an act that could not be forgiven.
To rot, it warrants Eric to roll his eyes but he, for the first time. refrains from subjecting them to some infantile argument and merely crosses his arms in finality. They’d already stated their piece on the matter, regardless of how Èdelie currently felt, low and perhaps defeated; she deserved to live. In fact, she deserved to prosper above all others and laugh in the face of what she’d endured but he wondered if she could ever muster the gall. Èdelie was mighty intelligent but she had blindsides when it came to what she deserved; which surely explained their almost parasitic relationship, too.
The fact of the matter is that Eric makes no sense. Their entire nature is hypocritical, practically messing with her emotions knowing she’s been hung dry since the cease of their supposed entanglement. “That’s not what you said throughout the past several months indicating my goddamn death at the palm of your hands.” Èdelie’s not going to tolerate standing there being told blatant lies. Eric makes things more complicated than what it needs to be, and that peeves Èdelie. A harsh push is made towards his chest with the palm of her hand, though weakly, vibrating with low ferocity. “You say you want me to live knowing what that’d mean to me. You take the time to toy with my feelings for your own personal benefit without caring about the consequences that’ll follow. You know what I mean when I say that.” An argument.. accusations thrown left and right. The possibilities of sexual intercourse; the most obvious one, as the two adults find more time engaging in sex than talking about their problems. It’s all a repeated cycle, one that’s never ending, and unfortunately, an act the two rarely ever complain about. Yet it’s too wrong; sinful, affected by her uncontrolled extreme emotions. On the day of her own best friend’s funeral, the nerve of Eric Aquino. It infuriates her, but also drove an unexplained lusting towards them, conflicting Èdelie badly.
They severely underestimate the anguish thrown onto the novice fey; the outpour of anger and confusion that arises within their presence combined with the events of the wedding and Emma’s death. Brushing her nose against Eric’s own, the brunette contritely whispered, “I was drunk off of you. I hallucinate you; I look for you in every single lifetime, and I am ashamed in my acknowledgement of that. I wanted nothing more than to wake in your God forsaken arms the night of that wedding and I can’t stand that.” As much as she despises Eric, her hate is still overpowered by her unfathomable love for them, scrunching her nose in distaste. Rose colored lips soon grazed the exterior of their own, inebriated by their scent... their touch; the closeness in itself providing temporary comfort in Èdelie, completely perplexing that his spirit alone could pull such strings. Her whispers continued solely onto his lips, heavy in her breathing. “I wanted to bear the hurricane that you are. I wanted to collide into you as a storm, but you make it hard when you do this —- when you say what I deserve in life... at Emma’s funeral.” She’s subjected to heightened emotional tendencies because of where they are. Eric should’ve known better.
Nonetheless, the finality of her best friend’s death forced out the loudest whimper, almost interlocking their lips before remembering the two are outside of a public event. “Du gør mig svag.,” she murmured under her breath, regrettably pulling away. Considering Èdelie’s dressed in a finely sown black dress and black heels, her makeup is already smudged from consistent cries, and tresses of curled hair limped, she didn’t want to alter her appearance anymore. The following actions didn’t particularly bother the brunette as she’s already been exposed to Eric in various forms, shifting her stockings at the feeling of slight wetness, bellowing, “Fuck!”, then straightening her dress to seat herself on a rock near the funeral parlor. Eric’s scent, even their touch — it always sends her skyrocketing, and for a moment, she just wanted to feel something of substance in the midst of trauma. “Mi stai rendendo la vita difficile,” she states in reference of her body’s sexual response, hiding her face out of absolute embarrassment. Yet then in a pattern that’s unusual from Èdelie, she rose from her seat to find her arms wrapped around them to softly embrace in a hug, burying her face in the crook of their neck as wails spilled. The brunette could momentarily glimpse into their eyes, allowing the outpour of emotions to transfer onto his Eric’s lips momentarily, tender and nonvenomous, soon returning her face to shield the nape of their neck. Knowing both adults are an ever-bright flame, she expressed in a hushed tone, “Kærlighed, jeg er træt.” The back of her hand wiped lazily against her cheeks, unmoved from her position, desperately yearning to drift into a deep slumber. It’ll be the first she’s welcomed Eric into her confidential struggles, muscles relaxing as her sobs began to lessen, largely because of their close proximity, and the comfortableness in their hold. “Kærlighed, please; jeg er træt.”
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