@londonfallen, cont. for reasons lmfao.
they are correct in their assumption he would turn sour from lack of holding their attention, even if only for a moment. and yet a worthy moment it would be, as the mirror they had seconds before touched shifted free from their reflection to display now the only source of true, colorful light in the prior dimly lit crevices of the altar's home. little by little, did the effect spread, like a spark lit by magic : as if running through string, black windows began to fill with soft color. the stained glass reflects on the floor, the walls. this is the theatre to which a sacrilegious horror grants alice his divinity, the very undivided infatuation he so craved. deserve is such a strong word and yet there is no utterance of disagreement from the bandersnatch themselves. were they to give voice to their thoughts, in fact, they would argue that he deserved far more than the mere gift of praise. soft is their hum, a deceptive mix of amusement and contentment : it is with a light heart they note he seems to touch them more familiarly and often than he had when he'd found his graveyard. so standoffish had he once been, but they are happy to give him the intimacy that he demands.
their head lifts to search his face, lips parting in coy consideration with narrowed eyes. so adept are they at dramatics, easily do their expressions match the thoughtless but love-stricken, albeit genuine, role they play. "devotee is not quite my aim though, is it? no, it's much more romantic than that. you are special, mi amor. such prayers," their free hand lifts to tap the tip of their finger to their bottom lip, "are not spoken for mere gods... there is a separation between the divine and you in my space, for you are so much more than any holy platitude words may weave, try as i may." it is difficult to tell 'neath the adoration in their eyes where heartfelt love translates to mirthful tease. such is who they are, but even still, heartfelt it is. they reclaim clarity lost, at last giving him the consideration he craves. a kiss now, from their lips to the crook of his neck, silas's head tilted by delicate fingers so they may do so. they speak 'gainst his skin, "querido ángel, restaura mi fe en el amor y la divinidad," and now moving away from his jaw, their fingers instead tug at wonderland's borrowed and buttoned garments, though only enough to be pulled so that they may instead place that chaste kiss directly 'pon his heart. his chest, so achingly warm against the ravenous bandersnatch, made of freezing nightmare. were he any other, they'd have eaten his heart : and perhaps, far less literally, they craved it still. "mi corazón está dentro de ti, a quien aprecio tanto." though they do not quite straighten their posture in proper, they do adjust to look up to him. "forgive me, silas, for i am weak. it's not mere devotion that i seek."
