The sun's rays spill their lazy way across her wooden floor where she is still cradling his body in her arms and his head against her shoulder. For all the warmth, she is more casket than crib. They both know that.
The sound of her breath is quiet, as always. The first time he met her, in fact, he thought she was an animated corpse of some kind – she was grotesquely skinny and alabaster pale, graceful in her movement and soft, so soft, right up until the moment she wants to be heard.
She terrified him then, and she terrifies him now. It would take a blind man to miss her charms and a daft one to miss the danger she brings about her like a cloak. He might not have eyes, but he sure as Hell isn't blind. He hopes he's not daft.
He still wonders why he associates with her, and has never come up with a satisfactory answer other than the way he feels in her presence, how she shocks him into being someone completely other, the way his life suddenly seems to have a meaning and a sense when they're together.
For him, though, that's enough.
A/N: Sorrows/Sanguine is about the most fun pairing ever, and yet it ends up so somber in my loving care. WHY.
~Mademise Morte, June 20, 2012.