There's the briefest express that crosses his face, which is difficult to put a label on: understanding, acknowledging. Wrath has attempted to do the same in her place, and it has felt like he has been able to have little success in finding a means of breaking the curse. He has felt he has failed her more times than he can count.
She has already begun to remember here, which means perhaps in their own world, she will remember too while still holding on to these new pieces of her heart he has fallen for.
His anger remains sharp and jagged, and he can feel the way she responds to it as if she is invited to it, to him. There was a time he worried she would fear him, worried she would run if she knew the truth of his name especially after all she had learned about the terrible devil and what would happen should he ever get his hands on her.
Wrath stands slow at her question - her hand is like fire to his ice always, and he is equally drawn to her. In truth, he wants to destroy, he wants to spill blood, he wants to seek retribution for what was done to him - ugly and unforgiving, but there is no direct cause at present (another curse to undo). And so what he truly wants, what he truly needs, the only being he has ever allowed himself to need despite the terrifying implications that come with it (that he has lived):
"You."
There's a sharpness to the word as his arm wraps around her and pulls her to him with a roughness to it. His mouth crashes against her own. They are alone here - house driven empty by his cooling temperatures.
no subject
She has already begun to remember here, which means perhaps in their own world, she will remember too while still holding on to these new pieces of her heart he has fallen for.
His anger remains sharp and jagged, and he can feel the way she responds to it as if she is invited to it, to him. There was a time he worried she would fear him, worried she would run if she knew the truth of his name especially after all she had learned about the terrible devil and what would happen should he ever get his hands on her.
Wrath stands slow at her question - her hand is like fire to his ice always, and he is equally drawn to her. In truth, he wants to destroy, he wants to spill blood, he wants to seek retribution for what was done to him - ugly and unforgiving, but there is no direct cause at present (another curse to undo). And so what he truly wants, what he truly needs, the only being he has ever allowed himself to need despite the terrifying implications that come with it (that he has lived):
"You."
There's a sharpness to the word as his arm wraps around her and pulls her to him with a roughness to it. His mouth crashes against her own. They are alone here - house driven empty by his cooling temperatures.