[ It's the natural cycle of things as far as she's concerned. A sozu, filling with water only for the inevitable outpouring. Reward follows close on the heels of trials, punishment right behind indulgence, and so it goes, hollow joys and the subsequent self-flagellation. She labels each polar end with such certainty belying the truth that both are at its core one and the same. It hurts to be touched, her body beginning to tell her of the parts that will soon bruise and remind her of her own fragility for days.
When she gasps from the pressure of his hands it is from pain, only the kind familiar to her, one she expects and wants and knows how to savor. How easy it is to mistake the remaining thrill from a brush with mortality for the thrill of anticipating pain for the thrill of yearning for him.
And when he calls out her arrogance, she laughs, defiant, to prove him right. ]
Don't we deserve it? If not, I'll make it so. Just tell me how.
no subject
When she gasps from the pressure of his hands it is from pain, only the kind familiar to her, one she expects and wants and knows how to savor. How easy it is to mistake the remaining thrill from a brush with mortality for the thrill of anticipating pain for the thrill of yearning for him.
And when he calls out her arrogance, she laughs, defiant, to prove him right. ]
Don't we deserve it? If not, I'll make it so. Just tell me how.