Shadewood the sun's blood on my hands [M]

Her king's demeanor would shift and spiral, ever-changing, growing, evolving, dimming and rising like the breath of a shadow; one moment, he could hold the rage of a thousand tempestuous storms, the next, he would be swathed in serene calmness. Gwen's azure gaze was locked with the pools of his own, and even as he spoke she was lulled along, back into his warmth, his safety... him.

Toxicity, on any level, still grasped the ability to be consuming, addictive; Raziel tasted both sweet and dangerous upon the tongue, and she couldn't let him go. The ebony wraith had dug himself deep into the snowbird's veins. She felt the icy touch of his nose, lifting her from the shrouding darkness that she had pulled herself into, and let him speak - he was a trap of the most wonderful hues. Poisonous, but beautiful. Deadly, dragged up from the tumultuous depths of hell, but godlike all the same; there were none able to capture the empress like a snare so much as this man, this fabled creature.

"I will not leave you," she whispered softly, a slither of frosted breath creeping through her lips into the polar wind, intertwining with his own. A shiver trickled like ice down her spine, but she let it. The golden's mind felt both paralysed, drugged, and crystal clear - as though the frigid breeze had washed out the haze of sleepless nights and left her senses uncorrupted. But they were corrupted, and they always would be. 

"I love you," Gwendolyn uttered, feeling the light brush of his caliginous coat against her nape, leaning into his touch as though he were the rope chaining her fleeting body back to existence - the last lifeline. His breath misted over her tender skin, and again she shivered, waiting, watching; cobalt orbs connected with luminiferous ice, and once more her spirit would weave into his own.

He was right. She was his.