"Just let me die."
Send me a phrase in exchange for a potential starter.
Well I mean it could be worse than the situation that they now found themselves entangled in then. A single hand that entwined itself upon the familiar rose encrusted porcelain that was well known to be his own design. Painted artfully in roses that reflected and encrusted with vines that almost gave the impression that the cup itself was held together by it's maker than it's own shape. But alas, he was simply a man who held many trinkets -- this being one of many familiar items. Now the entire plot was simple, simple enough. Dark hues were simple, for the man was not who he truly was but the other. The other that none saw as regularly as the blabbering man.
Jekyll had disappeared and it was Hyde's turn to play a game that day. A single pause then in his momentary hesitation that the brilliant gleam in Blood's eye. The saucer that was held in his grasp then was set upon the table -- a table that appeared almost blank as a canvas. The scenario was simple amidst the eerie calmness of the entire scenario.
She was trapped in a vicious cycle. A world in which he himself had created then amidst his momentary annoyance -- the feel of familiar power seeped into his digits. He set the tea cup onto the saucer and both onto the table once again and leaned against the surface of the chair. Consequently Blood's dark pools had opened almost lazily as he stared at the demi-goddess before him in visible boredom. Admittedly his features had remained poised, even as she was trapped in the four-sided window pane that kept her physique in there then. If only oxygen was a problematic issue -- for he had allowed the thin glass to allow some sort of air to slip in between the glass and in for the woman.
"Just let me die."
A single sigh that slipped through those plush tiers in his visible annoyance for her words were perhaps -- in some manner -- tedious and unnecessary in that pivotal point in time. Bringing his index to brush the surface of his nose, later holding the edge of his mandible and securing a pose in which his weight was pressed to one side in the most casual of mannerisms then. Those eyes closed just for a moment, falsifying any fatigue that may have been presented in the scenario between the two of them then.
"Well that depends." An idle reply in which he presented no emotion, no desire to justify his true intentions. But of course, he was a well known mad man. He had no reason to explain his own inconsistencies.
The room which was now manifested in the time then was blank; as a canvas was to an artist. There hadn't been a single spot of tea upon it's surface. It was blank, simple -- the only sound that was truly heard was the sound of her heart beat. The constant beating that made up for his own heart -- for it was metaphorically and figuratively nonexistent.