esmerosu:
“Repose-toi, tu es en sécurité,” the words drip through parted lips. She relaxes on the floor in front of him as he wakes - basking in the warmth of the fireplace. “How cruel the world can be,” she begins, finally looking up to him, “How are you feeling?” She waits for his reply until an interruption pulls her attention.
A statuesque man with a crooked smile and dark eyes - both of which did a great service for his tragic lack of substance - appears before them in suit and tie. “Mademoiselle Roşu, a word.” His eyes dart between Esmé and Mateo and when her gaze does not falter he continues, “The man,” he whispers, “he has departed this transitory life.” She cocks an eyebrow and nods, “To the next world then.” He stands still until she flicks her wrist, “Hurry,” then he disappears.
She sips from what appears to be a glass of wine - though thicker - darker. “You must be exhausted, dear stranger.”
@yesmateono
It always felt murky, the morning after. Little clips and pieces of horrible things he’d done, beautiful things he’d seen, things his human mind could never understand. The only thing that ever felt real, however, was the pain. And the guilt. That’s what he woke up to, only able to focus on the hurt. There’s a weird sharp, metallic smell around him, and what vaguely registered as French. ...Did he run all the way to France? No, wait that’s ridiculous, there’s, like.. water. And that awful wall-- that he could remember: furiously throwing his form at it last night, scratching at it, unable to understand why he couldn’t run.
“Mmh-” Mateo rolled over, curling in on himself, and registered heat near him. Slowly he opened his eyes and saw fire- fire place. Oh. He sat up rather suddenly, taking in the room, turning, and- there she was. “You? Why-- where- what the fuck-” God, he hated morning-afters. “Where am I? God, it-- stinks in here.”
