((lmk if this take on it works or if you want me to tread elsewhere!!))
[He’ll find it’s like pulling a ragdoll to him, as Caren is ripped into Gen’s grip so listlessly that the fervent violence of it seems almost comical.
Bearers quite literally manifest their own souls as they do, and yet she's never felt hers quite so disembodied as it feels now. To be sickly with malaise is nothing new. Even a few months ago, she had stripped of the condition that had given her life meaning while one day promising to kill her, and shamefully wondered if she could live like that perpetually. In this sluggish, sap-poisoned state, however, she has found a strange euphoria. No thing is beyond saving, even if the cost of salvation is consumption.
Caren glances down at his hands netting her skin, almost as if she anticipates they might pass through her or they might merge together entirely. When this doesn't happen, she lifts her flat eyes back to his. Her cold, pale palms stroke the back of his wrists. Everything is very smooth.
With the membrane that guards their Communion as thin as mountain air, he might even be able to feel the weak but driven flutter of her heart, winged and fast, as if it were his own adrenaline.]
You'll hurt me if you continue. [She doesn't pull away.] Just what is it that you think I can give to you?
ii. but the version with "damn bitch you live like this?" communion?
[He’ll find it’s like pulling a ragdoll to him, as Caren is ripped into Gen’s grip so listlessly that the fervent violence of it seems almost comical.
Bearers quite literally manifest their own souls as they do, and yet she's never felt hers quite so disembodied as it feels now. To be sickly with malaise is nothing new. Even a few months ago, she had stripped of the condition that had given her life meaning while one day promising to kill her, and shamefully wondered if she could live like that perpetually. In this sluggish, sap-poisoned state, however, she has found a strange euphoria. No thing is beyond saving, even if the cost of salvation is consumption.
Caren glances down at his hands netting her skin, almost as if she anticipates they might pass through her or they might merge together entirely. When this doesn't happen, she lifts her flat eyes back to his. Her cold, pale palms stroke the back of his wrists. Everything is very smooth.
With the membrane that guards their Communion as thin as mountain air, he might even be able to feel the weak but driven flutter of her heart, winged and fast, as if it were his own adrenaline.]
You'll hurt me if you continue. [She doesn't pull away.] Just what is it that you think I can give to you?