❪ language of thorns, accepting. ❫ ‘ they made me dream of things i cannot have. ’ // xiaobella ^-^
𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 nothing but destruction wrought from the heavens, whispers of a nation long gone. belladonna cannot remember the last time she had seen anything but; in its own way, the ruminations of the abyss are a constant she has considered her rock. we will always be here, they tell her, &. she has spent her life clinging to it.
not once had she wished for something different; but here, on the balcony of wangshu inn, xiao says, “ 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗺𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗺𝗲 𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗶 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲, ” &. she cannot help but wonder what would be in hers. there isn’t a thing in the world her brother would not give her, that she wouldn’t be able to obtain with her own hands. but, maybe this ── ?
( a fragile heart, torn &. bruised. devouring fangs, calloused hands; the enormity of my desire disgusts me, she thinks. how she wishes she could dream of 𝒉𝒊𝒎 instead. )
“ what do you want? ” do you wish you had me? ── the words die in her throat like flowers in snezhnaya’s winter chill; leaning on the railing, chin on the back of her hands, belladonna wishes the abyss would swallow her up. in half embarrassment, half want, she looks at the yaksha with the kindest smile she can muster. “ what do you dream of, xiao? ”
