‘ i think you should get some sleep. ’
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞. from wherever it is coming, his voice seems a very, very long way off. a speckled star way past the water, bobbing over the waves without any tether. is he calling her home? would he know, in the small human space of him, where to look? they are too far a-sea to ask now.
deliberately, bereft of urgency, the dark of her lashes veils the would-be witchfire in those distracted eyes. she blinks once, and once more again, as if to coax the room back into an arguable focus, to find him. it is only polite to exist in the physical realm when visiting someone’s home — she has certainly been told that before. it is the least she can do. as sensation bleeds back in to her living body, the girl becomes aware first of the pleasant warmth caught between her delicate hands. something radiant and perfectly smooth rests between her blackened palms, nestled in turn on the shallow valley of her lap.
coffee. yes — he had made her coffee.
this tactile awareness of her unearthly body spools around in loose circles, and so the girl cautiously draws in all the wayward fractions of herself that are still within reach. she takes inventory; first, what takes up tangible space, and then the rest.
as if she is a child, raynne is sat cross-legged on the cold countertop island, right by the corner. this is his kitchen, which comes to her in blooming recognition after a few moments more. outside the sun has long since set, dipping their world into the amber half-light they so often meet under, beached amongst the domestic reality has has built for himself. unlike the kind atmosphere, she sticks out like a bruise, bleak and dark-edged, sleek. black fur swaddles her shoulders and drapes down onto the granite, puddling about her knees; there is no distinguishing it from the wild tumble of her hair, knotted back from her face as it is now, exposing the sharp angles there, the beast thing under the skin. as if she had stepped through the jagged rend in time and space simply to sit here, abashed of her own monstrosity, looking for conversation.
in truth she should not be invading this house. one step away from a ghost. it is not her place to haunt, but the invitation of friendship tugs her wayward mind back every so often. around her slim body, the reed-thin likeness of herself, the air bends and crackles beyond the human eye. she smells like rain and bitter ash; she has come from somewhere dark beneath the earth, beyond anything she would bear to tell him. it does not, all considered, matter that much.
gradually, the bend of her mouth finds a gossamer smile, held for but a moment. the still full mug is set carefully next to her thigh before she slithers off the pedestal, bare feet soundless on the tiles. without looking, her hands find one of of his own, grasping it with tender intention, squeezing ever so slightly; when she pulls the cold fingers away, none of the soot will stay with him; that, at least, she can promise.
an unknowable expression shadows across her beautiful, spectral face. there is nothing real in her, and so she only smiles still, soft as light. ‘one day.’
THE PUNISHER / ACCEPTING