A/N: Framing quotes from Macbeth. Just because. This is for Katla, magicaldestiny on Tumblr, because she asked for Vanessa. =)
By the pricking of my thumbs
You have never seen a man like him. You feel his presence even before you cast a glance—cast it, yes, like a dart—and ah, but the artist in you slides a finger shrieking up the cello string in your soul.
There is a man.
(You have seen the rabbit in the snowstorm. You can see the man within the mask within the man. Immediately, and finally).
You greet him.
His voice is luscious and leaden. He is not at all comfortable in his own skin, in his great frame, and you wonder if that is because he does not know how to fill it, or if he fears filling it too much.
You have an effect on him. You move him and stretch him and it feels like adventure in your veins, like brushstrokes bending paint to sculpture. Changing, always changing.
He has never seen a woman like you. It makes you proud, and it makes you powerful.
Sometimes when you look at the painting in a fey mood, you can't see the snowstorm for the rabbit.
When you meet his eyes, you can't see the man for the mask for the man.
Something wicked this way comes