black sheep
( #15. Ice )
"She's dead." Tonelessly he said, raking his hands through his hair, releasing her from his grip. "Now what?"
"Depends." Karin sat up, unfazed from before, merely brushing away the dust on her clothes. Her clothes are ripped, but that's alright. "Would you like me to stay, or would you like me to go?"
"Even if I told you which one I want, you wouldn't listen." Curtly, he snapped.
"Well, it's simple courtesy." She shrugged, black hair reflecting a sickle moon, he's not listening to her either. "But you're right; I had no intention to obey you if you told me to leave."
His cheek was burning, the mark that she gave him which no one else could see. The rest of him was ice cold, absorbed in despair.
"Karin." His voice rasped out, choking with her corroding influence. She's too close, far too close, and he swore it was like before when Paris burned in a city of ember flames.
Her smile broke, ready to be shattered and crushed to the bone.
"I told you, long ago…" Her forehead touched his, noses bumped, and it's them and the taste of bitter decay sweetening their mouths. "… I just want you."