He dreams of /her/ on rare occasions -
Gentle little bird.
He likes to see her smiling but only ever hears her scream.
Smoke and damp grass, everything smells burnt. Realisation washes over and he finds his fingers are laced with silk fibre, tangled in Rashel's hair along with a last shuddering breath of panic as he wakes.
There would once have be another lain next to him, sheets around their waists. Quinn pulling at ashen hair, persuading the head back until he could lean over. He'd forget the screams, listening only to the little gasps and hisses he elicited with little nips which never left marks.
He dreams of Dove on rare occasions And after the flames, Ash.
With his arm coiled to let his skin touch hers and his face nuzzled in coal thread, he doesn't apologise for the memories or regret any one.
Those were past lives.
Smoke and damp grass, everything smells burnt. Realisation washes over and he finds his fingers are laced with silk fibre, tangled in Rashel's hair along with a last shuddering breath of panic as he wakes.
There would once have be another lain next to him, sheets around their waists. Quinn pulling at ashen hair, persuading the head back until he could lean over. He'd forget the screams, listening only to the little gasps and hisses he elicited with little nips which never left marks.
He dreams of Dove on rare occasions And after the flames, Ash.
With his arm coiled to let his skin touch hers and his face nuzzled in coal thread, he doesn't apologise for the memories or regret any one.
Those were past lives.