AN : I am aware that I let my other story go, "Building Bridges". I will come back to it sometime soon, although for now it is really a great confusion in my head. I'll see how I'll spread it out.
I will most probably post more of little descriptive snippets, as I do adore writing them.
This story has no spoilers for 2x01! So feel free to read if you live in Canada or somewhere else like me (I streamed it), and have no access to the episode until February 5th. I certainly admire your patience.
As always, thanks for reading. Enjoy!
He yearned to graze his thumb over her soft cheek once more. His palm ached to feel the gentle rise of goosebumps on her tender neck. He longed to contemplate again the sweet tumult that stirred in her hazel eyes when he had brought her closer to him. He recalled one lonely little breath, its whisper slipping sensually through her parted lips that he coveted to have mere inches from his.
Altogether, he desired too many things that were not created for him to obtain. They were a distant passion that he could not quite, in its entirety, harbour warmly in his heart. It spilled from fissures he did not find the needle or sufficient personal justification to stitch back so that his heart would become whole again. In a way, this infatuation for a purer spirit apprehended the great undermining of his soul, and made him realize just how much he perceived himself, in a few occurrences, as dark and secluded as the Beast.
He did not, after all, withhold the vulnerability to let himself simply be fond of another woman's love. The only feeling he had encountered before was the carnal lust which did not at all pierce and rip and sever his stomach until he no longer could remember how to breathe. He was discovering now that affection was a powerful instrument of torture, the sensation of which he cursed himself to be so immoral for having found intricately pleasurable. He would sometimes look at her, and all his eyes would capture is the simple beauty of her every smooth gesture. The way the corners of her lips would curl as she sang, and the way her gaze was always lifted as though she were breathing and being consumed by the ethereal shiver of the fire burning in the sky. Sometimes as he observed her he found anything but reason guiding his thoughts. His mind was corrupted. And that disquieted him a bit, though its disturbance granted him a freer access to his memories of her cheek, her neck, her eyes, and her lips.
Unfortunately, he desired too many things that were not created for him to obtain. And he let the rough constriction of his abdomen be the feeling that overwhelmed him as he could not let calm sleep take him in early hours of morning.