Emberflame Ridge in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me

✹☾❂

 

As thoroughly entertained as she was with Revui, there was a part of her that understood him. There was a no-small corner of her soul that was wholly preoccupied with the idea of death, and how things died, and what it all meant when they were gone. Never a soul glimpsed this part of her, except perhaps Scarab as they explored the valley of carcasses. These things didn’t phase her, and its what drove her down this animal path when she could just as easily turn away and be done with the whole thing. They were not so different.

She slid along beside his hulking figure, almost as if it were some version of mythology where he was the Cerberus and she was the underworld. His Underworld. She watched wordlessly as he surveyed their immediate area as well as down along the path. Few stones were left unturned, but it didn’t seem that he was overly worried about the presence of danger. Eleuthera was simultaneously disappointed and relieved.

He asked where it was that she desired to go, and a million answers sprang to mind. She wanted to go home, to the Hushed Willows. She wanted to go back to the river so that she could show him how well she fished. She wanted to take him to the canyon and show him all the lovely dead things that lived there. She wanted to whisk him from these lands and experience with him the most exotic cultures of the world. She wanted to show him what it was like to writhe atop her, to give him access to the most intimate parts of her soul and to watch him thrash about like a bull in a china shop, crushing her, breaking her, ruining her — 

Though her mind was alight with all of the earthly possibilities, Eleuthera knew they would likely not come to pass; at least, not here. She had no intent on giving herself to this dark, looming creature; at least, not yet. The truth of it was that she had only given herself to one man in her life, and the act was a somewhat sacred thing for her — only to be shared between lovers. She hoped he would respect her wishes whenever she saw fit to voice them, though it didn’t stop her kaleidoscopic mind from creating certain forceful scenarios.

— and even though she knew these were ridiculous fantasies, it further did not stop her from giving the only answer she felt was appropriate. “It doesn’t matter." She repeated, because it really didn't. Where else could she possibly want to be than here? She spoke in a tone that could only be described as 'authoritatively husky,' meant to halt him on his relentless pursuit and bring him back here, with her. As if to further demonstrate her meaning, she breached the barrier of touch and pressed her nose against the fur on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of skin and road and pollen; and blood, and strife, and rejection.

She would not give herself today, at least not willingly, but perhaps they could find another way to be whole.