A/N: Maybe you hadn't noticed my love of sess/kag? Well, I'm coming out with it now. Oh how I love them, they're horrible for each other but yet so perfect.
Storms
Strange Comfort
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
-T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land
She wonders at how it feels when he holds her, at how he can look at her without another face overlaying her own. She looks up into familiar eyes without the familiar expression, a whole new personality. It's like walking up the stairs at home to find steps missing.
When she thinks that, she wonders if she's committing the same injustice that he had spared her. She shakes herself, the arm over her waist tightening. That life is dead and gone; another incarnation, a different boy with demon blood in his veins.
With small hands she traces the red slashes of color on one slender wrist and revels in the lack of déjà vu; loves the difference as she does the demon beneath them.