+ Fallacy, a 100themes Challenge +
Sarehptar
Theme: 26, Tears
Characters: Kharl, Star Princess
Pairing: Kharl/Star Princess
Warnings: Ermm... Probably the most scandalous thing I've ever written for the DK fandom.
Need to Know Info: Could connect to Cloaks if Cloaks was a dark-romance story...
Title Provider: Midnight (Trans-Siberian Orchestra)
No Need for Words, for in the Dark all Words have Long since Lost Their Meaning...
And she gives him a smile then—a shaking, hollow smile that hurts more than anything else.
"I'm a fool," she murmurs, but her roseate eyes echo different words, and long pale lashes rise and fall like the sun.
"Yes," he answers; there is no spite in it. "We both are." His eyes that are wan as the moon struggle to be detached but shine with desperation. There is an infinite distance between them, two steps that seem so much farther. There is a world between them, and neither one moves to cross the space.
She trembles for a moment, and then wraps ivory and white-clothed arms around herself, a mockery of other hands and other hopes her eyes can say but her mouth cannot.
"I'm a fool," she repeats, whispers, won't meet his gaze because they both know exactly what those words mean—and they have nothing to do with magic, mistakes, or Dragons. "So… So…" Her throat constricts, the words refuse to move from where they sit, poisonous, on her lips. The scent of salt and regret weighs heavily in the dim light of the room, and impossibly slowly, crystal liquid pools and falls down her smiling face.
"My fiancé." For an eternity, that is all she says, pale skin and pale eyes glistening in the candlelight and the dark. For a moment, he wonders how painful it must be, to suffer two hearts breaking at once. "I can't." Yet there is no strength in her insistence, and it sounds so much like surrender.
The words leave an acidic taste in his mouth—they seem like something solid. They are a boundary; they are a weakness. "I can't..." she whispers, but it is her white boots that cross the distance finally, and it is her hands that brush against his, and it is her eyes that meet lilac and say what she really means.
And when he pulls her closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth and she can feel the cold, there is something bittersweet crushed between them. Betrayal winds like smoke in the flickering darkness, twines around their dancing fingers, drinks in their mingled breaths. He drives it from his mind, because he has admitted already and for just a moment, wants to forget.
With slow, gentle claws, the demon brushes each new tear from her cheek.
And he gives her a smile then—a shaking, hollow smile.
Theme 27: Foreign
"WHATTTT?!" the red-head howled, jumping off his seat cushion in utter shock. "That's it! YOU HAVE TO BE CHEATING! No person could honestly get FIVE Royal Flushes in a row!"