RONAN --
ronan does not flinch at her question–he wants to tell her that she need not bear her teeth at him, that she need not drag the blade across his throat in an effort to see if she can finally make him cry out in pain–he had taken each wound gladly, back then, and after he had lost her, he had learned to caress every scar as tenderly as she had once touched the deformed bones of his shoulders. there is nothing she could say to him now that he wouldn’t swallow with the loving eagerness of a man long deprived of something essential.
“surely you don’t think so little of me, rafaella.” he says with a raised eyebrow. “i made a promise to you, and i have never broken it. if i had known what was being done to you–” he shakes his head and meets her gaze–even now it seems to look past every facade he has carefully constructed for himself, seems to incinerate every gilded mask he hides behind. “if i had known what was being done to you, there would have been nothing that could have dissuaded me from putting an end to it, putting an end to those whose hands had been laid on you. that information was kept from me.”
is that why she stands before him now? for a needed reassurance of devotion, in the wake of her torment? a need to take the inflicted pain and weaponize it, turn it against someone else? he could have told her it would be a fool’s errand–the pain of having lost her is something that he feels constantly, that pools just underneath the surface of his skin like a bruise that refuses to heal, inflicting pain that hurts worse than what he already lives with is an impossibility. she would be better served turning her divine fury against her tormentors, instead of one long since determined to suffer every lash.
“is that why you’re here?” he grins up at her, a flash of teeth. “revenge? you need only say the word and i would gladly lay my neck on the block, signora capulet. or perhaps, you want me to lead them to you like lambs to slaughter.” he leans forward on his desk, rests his chin on top of his clasped hands. “you need only say the word, caro mio. as always.” he had told her once, his voice as close as it had ever been to breaking, that the montagues were no more than a means to an end, and it is a sentiment that still holds true. he would gladly slaughter any one of them, if he deemed such an action useful–or, as the withered husk of a heart in his chest supplies, if rafaella capulet simply asked him to.
Surely you don’t think so little of me, he questions, as though he still expected there to be the same steadfast faith that he had fostered before he broke it in one fell swoop by choosing his ambition over her. As though she was still the same woman whose skin was hardened iron rather than the fragile porcelain that she felt herself to be, fractured and likely to fall apart at the slightest touch. But the distance between them was wide and yawning -- the vulnerabilities and intimacies of such a confession required a sense of trust that she didn’t know how to give him again. He meets her gaze and she returns it, gaze flickering between his as she tries to discern whether or not she wished to try.
“You chose the Montagues over me once before, Ronan,” she reminds him, voice cold and quiet, hardened as the memory of that moment washed over her. It made her lip curl, the reality that the memory of his betrayal held a certain potency still. “Is it really so far-fetched to believe that you wouldn’t do so time and time again?” Her chin tilts upward as she considers him, regarding him with a flinty gaze as she undermines the past that they had once had -- wondering if he would let it go so easily, like his promises, like everything else he finds no longer has use to him. Perhaps it was her fault for seeking out someone so like herself. A demon that was nothing more than a hungry yawning whole, yearning for something more. Was it so wrong she thought him all the more fascinating for it?
He bares his teeth at her in a grin -- the promise of blood spilling if there ever was one; a warning, a threat. Perhaps he had forgotten that such blatant displays of danger only drew her closer. So Rafaella stepped closer to the desk, fingers idly running along the different objects that resided on it, giving her insight into the man that had become since their...respite from one another. Her fingers dance on the expensive wood, gloved hand never betraying a secret or a sound. She could slip out of this office and no one would know that she had ever been here to begin with. He’d be left with the faint scent of jasmine perfume. But the veracity of his words make her stop, a widening of her eyes betraying the surprise at such a vocal confession of devotion.
“Ronan,” she breathes, warning him that he should be more tactful about who he dared to tie his heart to. Carefully, she presses her lips together, stepping around the desk until she was beside him. When she was close enough to, reached out hesitantly, holding his face in a gloved hand. “Would you be so kind as to lead them to me? Bit by bit I want to eat away at them until they’re left desolate. I want them to suffer -- not as I have suffered -- but worse. I want to rip away at them until they are begging for me to end them, their families, their friends...end them all.”
