@ultraviolext hee hee hoo hoo
Bare fingers trail along delicate features, thumb pad pulling plush lips apart then dragging past. There’s an ease in his touch, a reverence laid bare. When a sculptor works his hands must be bare to feel his work. A creature unable to commit fully to death so there is no other option but to live. Fingers sweeps along her cheek cold, corpse like. That delicate line always toed.
But she in all of her beautiful ruin isn’t his doing. He is simply admiring what the Goddess has already provided. A man touching a sculpture long made, careful in his inspection. His eyes cold and surgical sharp run along familiar features latch onto her eyes. Fingers grip her chin, jerks her head up so they meet eye to eye. The command is silent. Stay. Her eyes, meek once, no longer a window to the soul. Not there, no. With his free hand he brushes strands of black hair, and finds the scar that gave her purpose. Broke free the woman he always knew was beneath the mousy assistant. Right between the eyes. Jagged and marred. There soul’s window.
The words are breathed out quietly.
“I see you.”
