gods she is divine. even when she is angry with him. even when there is a trace of melancholy in her words. a careful flippancy as if to hide the hurts that scar her too gentle heart. but especially divine he finds, when a blade is pressed to his throat.
he has lied to her. lied and lied and lied, and told her more truths of himself than anyone alive knows. but she knows the truth now. who he is. that the charming guard was not the truth, but can she accept that hawke was? that it was a piece of himself he could give?
the bite of cold steel to his throat, lips parting in a true smile. the gleam of elongated canines, the simmering hunger in golden honeyed eyes — he will not live without her. he cannot. plans have changed rapidly, his loyalty stretched as he reorganised his life to center on this one startlingly perfect woman.
‘ penellephe — what have we discussed. don’t get me excited if you’re not planning on carrying through. ‘
the teasing lilt to his voice as he leans into the blade, letting it pierce his skin as a droplet of blood breaks free. trailing down the blade. he is not afraid to bleed. he is not even afraid to die. but he, terrified, that if this moment ends without an understanding — that she will never allow herself the freedoms she has allowed him thus far. to hear her laugh, to savour her blush, to indulge her desires — he would be used by her willingly in any form. the loss of it leaves him aggrieved.
‘ you will marry me — and we will both get what we want. ‘
what's the saying ? we are all immortal until proven otherwise . // casteel & poppy // @vaenquish
