He had followed her for a while, not sure how to approach her. Covered in a cloak and a black mask, the King found a small gap in which Centori was alone and away from crowds. "Centori..." he said. He remembered her name. He remembered her. Once she responded, the mask came off, showing her his emotionally broken face.
[ Set a few weeks prior to current events. ]
Like every good dance, the partners must be connected. To feel, there must be a common thread holding them together.
It was a whisper, floating on the wind like a long forgotten breeze on a hot day. Still the push and pull between the two individuals was there because of the singular woman.
The market was crowded but something seemed to be permeating the air. Desperation? Heart ache? A brokenness that could be felt to the core. It pulled at her senses.
A shadow followed her but she did not know, lost in her own thoughts, trying to place the foreboding sensation that haunted her steps. A dance it was after all. Both parties seeking a resolution for the unknown pull.
Cen paid for her goods, bending to collect the supplies that were set at her feet. A bow given before making her way back home. When the shadow finally materialized, a dance partner many would fear, pulled down the blackness.
The blond before her had a place in her life that few would ever occupy. He meant something to her even if she didn’t fully understand how or why. This was not the same arrogance that she knew from before. It was utter defeat. Painful in its obviousness.
The Rat King in all his broken glory, a fallen angel slumped before her. She didn’t know his name, not really. It felt odd to address him with such a formal title, if that’s what it was.
“RK?” Yes, that would have to do.
“What’s wrong? Is L-” No, speaking that name now felt like sacrilege.
She simply moved closer, offering a hand. No words spoken. In this dance, she held control but would never lord it over the once proud man.
[ @hmratking Sorry for the lateness but I had a weird inspiration for this! ]
