"With the utmost respect, you haven't seen me kill."
Odd, to be on the opposite side of things. When she is so ready to let people speak to a stranger, to hold their secrets, because how can she pass judgement? To let go of her own feels like forcing a fist open laced with rigor mortis.
"I only feel like myself in those moments."
But is that still true? Is there not grounding in anything she throws her body into? In fighting, in a good meal, in a hot drink, in sex, in running her hands along pretty fabric, in walking through the grass without shoes. There is value in it all, but the sheer ecstatic joy of murder outstrips anything else. Makes her yearn for more and more of it.
(Addiction, the god-shell had scorned it as such. They would not know how it feels like a blessing.)
no subject
Odd, to be on the opposite side of things. When she is so ready to let people speak to a stranger, to hold their secrets, because how can she pass judgement? To let go of her own feels like forcing a fist open laced with rigor mortis.
"I only feel like myself in those moments."
But is that still true? Is there not grounding in anything she throws her body into? In fighting, in a good meal, in a hot drink, in sex, in running her hands along pretty fabric, in walking through the grass without shoes. There is value in it all, but the sheer ecstatic joy of murder outstrips anything else. Makes her yearn for more and more of it.
(Addiction, the god-shell had scorned it as such. They would not know how it feels like a blessing.)
"What do you see, in my eyes and my face?"