๐พ๐๐๐๐ถ !โย / ๐ฉ๐ซ๐ข๐จ๐ซ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ง๐ญ๐๐ซ ๐๐จ๐ซ๐ฆ๐๐ฅย
though she can only sympathize, iskraโs lips twitch and her gaze shifts as his voice turns timid, honest, far too vulnerable for her to look directly at. she had come here in the first place for a smoke, a fuck, and a night of peace and quiet, something to relieve the tension that wheedled like knives, like eyes between her shoulder blades. she wasnโt the sort to take such openness in stride; in fact, it was the one thing she could expect to avoid when coming to visit august, for their shared shame was something that kept the curtains drawn and the conversation purposeful.ย
she regrets saying anything truthful at once. at once, she regrets admitting that she believed to have seen octavia, wishes she would have lied and told him no, told him that the others, all who apparently claimed to have seen her too, were mad. here, admitting it aloud means admitting that they are not as safe in their loneliness as they might think they are, that their precarious game is just that โ and not the bastion of safety and solitude they might have hoped it to be.ย
iskra wishes at once that she could take it back, that she could toss her hair over her shoulders, laugh, and pass it off as the joke, the prank, the one-off moment of madness she hoped it was. she knows she contradicts herself; she just canโt help it.
although seeing octavia had lit a fire in her belly that she could not deny. she only wished it wasnโt burning this house down.ย
โplease,โ she scoffs, attempting nonchalance and feigning indifference, but failing miserably; against the backdrop of his quiet voice, it rings horribly false,ย โyou donโt believe in ghosts, do you?โ she avoids answering his question, and wonders if he can tell. octavia didnโt say anything particularly harmful, but following it up with an ominous message, solemn and haunting, in the sound of her own voice was harmful enough.ย
โiโm sure what i saw โโ she clears her throat, taking a drag as she perches on the edge of the bed,ย โโ what i thought i saw, was just a dream. it had to be. what else could it be?โ certainly not a ghost. if it was a ghost, theresa would have seen it โ her โ too. iskra takes another deep inhale, smoke billowing from her nostrils as she considers.ย
she shakes her head.ย โin the dream,โ because she wants to believe itโs a dream; her voice sounds unconvinced,ย โshe said โฆย โbehind every great man is a great womanโ,โ another drag,ย โor something. and then,ย โthatโs how it happened to meโ.โ
through the smoke, she considers him, losing her grip upon the ruse that she is too good to publicly entertain the idea that her best friend โ and his ex โ is traipsing around as a ghost to punish them for their indiscretion. and then, as the trepidation in his voice fully breaks her icy barrier โย
โwhat about you?โ it opens a door she doesnโt want to open.
iโve gotta get the fuck out of here.
YOU DONโT BELIEVE IN GHOSTS, DO YOU ??
had he been asked just a month prior, his answer would have been as unwavering as his love for octavia. of course he didnโtย โโ there had never been enough space for a belief in something so intangible, so impalpable, and yet here he was, placing the burden onto iskra to be the more rational out of the two of them. itโs unfair of him, and he knows he places more of his weight onto her in hopes of her holding him up, but sheโs always been the steadier of the two of them.ย
heโs asking her to be the same girl heโs always known, to rid him of any doubts. maybe he asks too much of her.
โshe said ... โ something that had made him sure it had been her. something that had been so in characteristically octaviaย โโ the words she had chosen, the way they had fallen off her lips, and the twitch of them as they fluttered into the faintest of a smirk.
i love lysander. he would never hurt me.
because she knows him too well. because if the goal is to make it sting, she knows the sharpest of the words in her arsenal.ย
but instead of voicing this, heโs picking the easy way out. โyouโre right. it doesnโt matter. it was a dream.โ itโs what makes sense. itโs what hurts less. itโs what makes it easier to trick himself into another nightโs sleep.ย โi was fucked up when i saw her โโ iโd been drinking and i was coming down from a high and ... iโve seen my grandma after she passed away too. itโs probably a common symptom. to see dead loved ones.โ anything to rationalize it. anything to live in ignorance, because itโs much more comfortable than to address the fact that maybe, just maybe, the blood on the walls had been real.
reaching over, calloused fingertips pluck the dwindling cigarette from her, placing it between his lips to take a full drag. the smoke in his lungs settles comfortably, easing nerves that have been on high alert, before leaving its taste along his tongue on its way out. too suddenly heโs realizing just how much heโs relied on iskra within the past few months, whether it be the chase of a warm body besides him, or her steadfast resolve. how can she can manage to be so headstrong when he feels as if their entire world was caving in around them ??ย however it may be, itโs what compels him to have her as his, just for the night. he doubts he can bear to be alone after this conversation.
โitโs easier if you leave in the morning. i think wolfie just went to bed.โย
