Would you give me a chance if I let you turn me 🤭
Remmick went still at the words, the weight of them cutting sharper than perhaps they meant. His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in that quiet, haunted way that suggested he was already miles away—thinking of blood, of shadows, of the kind of eternity they couldn’t possibly fathom.
“Careful,” he said at last, his tone rough, deliberate, each word dragging like gravel. “You toss that offer like it’s some coin for barter. Like all it costs is a little blood and a kiss in the dark. But you don’t know what you’re askin’ me for.”
He leaned forward, gaze fixed on theirs with an intensity that felt like it could pin them in place.
“Turnin’ ain’t a gift. It’s a chain. An endin’ you wear like a second skin. You think it’d win my favor? That I’d look at you different, grant you some chance just because you chose damnation to meet me halfway?” His mouth twisted into something sharp and joyless, a shadow of a smile.
He sat back, shaking his head once, slow.
“If I ever wanted you close, I’d want you as you are. Flesh, flaws, warmth—mortal. I don’t need another monster standin’ at my side. I’ve enough of that in the mirror.”
His eyes lingered on theirs, softer now, though no less heavy.
“So no. Don’t offer me your eternity. If I’m to give you a chance…” his voice dipped lower, quieter, “it’ll be for the way you breathe, not the way you’d burn it out.”
