five times watched (for sylas, from delilah!)
it's bad luck to see your wife in her wedding dress before the day of. or so they say. Delilah had just gotten her dress back from a seamstress, they had been lamenting over the perfect fit. Delilah was trying on her garment beyond the horrible door that parted them. It's hard not to feel impatient. Delilah did not often wear white, though he was sure she would wear it well. It was a talent of hers, the ability to look lovely in anything. But this was more than that, the dress in itself a declaration of commitment. She would be his, until they died together at what he hoped would be a ripe old ageSylas Briarwood had never been a man of superstition & had a habit of doing what he wanted. he doesn't battle with temptation for too long before giving into desire.
He slips in the room carefully, quietly. He doesn't want to disturb her peace as she revels in the finery. It is strange to see her at such ease, consumed in such an intimate moment with herself It is almost a shame to break the silence, but he cannot help but notice to unlaced corset at her back. It left some of the fabric loose over her shoulders, the skirt drooped just a bit without the support to keep it in place. Sylas cannot help but come up behind her, revealing himself in the mirror before moving to tighten the corset at her back. He is gentle with the action, attentive.
He draws her near pressing a feather-light kiss to her her shoulder before he adjusts the sleeve. it was always easy to be gentle with her, though it was not natural to either of them. He'd done this a thousand times before & the ritual was committed to muscle memory, making it easy to focus on her reflection. It as one he would always hunger for, that he would never tire of. He slides his arms around her waist when the deed is done. Is this what it feels like to be sick with love? It was a disease he did not want to cure.
she is silhouetted in candlelight, his own angel of death. Perhaps he had loved her too hard, perhaps he shouldn't have peeked at her dress. No, he couldn't deny himself the memory of her glowing in such elegance. Now it is more difficult to make out the details of her form, her face, her distant voice. He watches her shoulders shake at her bedside too desperately, it was unlike anything he had ever seen before. She was strong, stronger than Sylas. it would be kinder to her if he could die & relieve her of the weight of caring for him, of wiping the sweat from his quivering brow as he cried out through the night.
but every moment he had left with her was precious. Sylas would not give up on her, he could not leave Delilah alone in this world. he had promised to see her to the end of her days. Though it seemed less & less likely that would be possible, he at least owed her this night. Even as his sight leaves him, his mind & eventually his breath he is unable to tear his gaze from her. delilah who was so strong, Delilah who he had the privilege of loving. Perhaps the sky begins to shift, and perhaps the breath leaves his body. In his final moments, it is hard to tell.
And with her love, is power. such destructive, determined power. It is beautiful in every sense of the word. If he were another man, a lesser man, he may fear what she was capable of. But in breaking the world, she had done something magnificent. She had bought them more time. She had bought them eternity. She had bought them power over death itself. His gaze had always been drawn in her direction, but now it was more than that. Sharpened senses meant he could treasure every heartbeat, every passing breath.
His attention never wandered too far, keeping her in the corner of his eye even now. Sometimes, he mused, he could still feel his lifeless heart flutter in her chest when she spoke. He was fortunate enough to know her truth, privileged to foresee their planned bloodshed. Mercy was a metier of weakness & she was anything but weak. he was addicted to the subtle curve of her lip, to how sweetly she greets their hosts. How gracious she acts, though he knows it is an act.
Sylas plays along & he plays well, but she plays better. Her power is not only in magic, but in people. Delilah was someone people wanted to love, wanted to trust & she knew how to wield every one of her powers with such grace. It is hard not to revel in her from the corner of his eye as she makes the de Rolos believe that she is a friend, that they will live to see another sunrise.
she is a genius in terms of survival & he is obsessed with her method. Stray curls fall to her face as she pours over an ancient tome, one they had pried from the lord's private chambers after a bit of effort. the fire in her eyes was infectious, irises darting back & forth as she consumed page after page of information. The whispered one, Vecna, had saved them & thus they would serve him. Their world was his, this world was his & they would make it so. This world was His, their world was His so long as he kept them together.
There was not a being Sylas wouldn't challenge for Him, for Her, for the promise of eternity. He is drawn to her instinctively, going between reading over her shoulder & catching the glint in her eye. She is their path to forever, one he will walk at her lead.
As entertaining as it is to watch the de Rolo boy crumble, his attention is instinctively drawn to Delilah. to that curl of her lips, to the way her eyes narrow like daggers. The way she pokes & prods is an art, her social warfare is one of the most incredible things about her. She peels away every layer of the boy's reserve with a handful of words, a handful of cleverly told lies over dinner & wine. It's magnificent, in every sense of the word. By the end of this night, they would undoubtedly have work to do & truth be told... he was thrilled.
He was thrilled to see her in action, reveling in her steady hand as she held her wine to the light. He barely hears what she says, consumed by the threat woven into that perfect smile. He is eager to wet his blade, to show the impotent little lord everything they had been holding back in their short time together prior. But it was more compelling to see her draw him in now, to place his reserve under the pad of her thumb & crush it like an ant. he will never stop chasing that smile of hers, drinking it in like the sweetest wine.
