[ He barks out a laugh first, because as predicted, she’ll never be satisfied at all. She only wants his true death, and that is something that he has confidence won’t be allowed. He’s too valuable to some, too interesting to others, and so, his Shard will always be saved by those alone, if not also for misplaced feelings of righteousness. She’ll always be left wanting, but she’s making a mistake here that she doesn’t realize.
When a demon says you are even, that is a gift. He has stayed out of her way save for a curiosity that she doesn’t even know (and one that neither of them know—), but this is one he could not avoid. How unreasonable and unruly. His pupil dilates under the spear’s tip, but not for fear or anger, but for recognition of what a fool she is to toss it away. He’s been uninvolved, if petty.
No more.
The spear drives into his eye, and the immediate reaction is reflexive. His fingers dig into her skin hard, and the strength is bruising on her arm with his strong grip, but the soft leather gloves can’t break the skin. His body seizes as he jerks back as much as he can from the point of it, but the breath he doesn’t need catches in his throat as he bites down on his lip until the skin splits and bleeds. The pain is hot and vicious, and he can’t retreat to the parts of him that are less human and don’t feel the pain of the body he had so painstakingly created as a mask.
But in Communion, the response is more marked as he can’t hold back, or maybe it’s that he chooses not to. The space of his mind is an abyssal sea composed of the same shadows that he can usually manipulate so freely, but they’re kept quiet underneath the cool composure of the gentleman that Sebastian values so much. In the sharp feeling of that eye being destroyed without relief, he lashes out like a trapped animal. It’s an oil that assaults Communion full of eyes that watch and beasty teeth that grin, bone-white from the abyss. It’s not visual so much as an impression, yet there’s still something monstrous in that dark.
It only lasts as long as the pain and as the spear as held in place, but those vicious mouths speak. It’s a cacophony of growls, hisses, and low-pitched murmurs, all speaking some language that’s unrecognizable and overlapping, but that drips with malevolence. Whatever they’re saying remains a mystery, but the tone and the feelings behind them are clear.
This is what a demon is—a nightmare shoved into physical form, and all its instincts say that it won’t stop until it eats you alive. ]
cw: eye gore, [sighs] eldritch v*re mindfuckery
When a demon says you are even, that is a gift. He has stayed out of her way save for a curiosity that she doesn’t even know (and one that neither of them know—), but this is one he could not avoid. How unreasonable and unruly. His pupil dilates under the spear’s tip, but not for fear or anger, but for recognition of what a fool she is to toss it away. He’s been uninvolved, if petty.
No more.
The spear drives into his eye, and the immediate reaction is reflexive. His fingers dig into her skin hard, and the strength is bruising on her arm with his strong grip, but the soft leather gloves can’t break the skin. His body seizes as he jerks back as much as he can from the point of it, but the breath he doesn’t need catches in his throat as he bites down on his lip until the skin splits and bleeds. The pain is hot and vicious, and he can’t retreat to the parts of him that are less human and don’t feel the pain of the body he had so painstakingly created as a mask.
But in Communion, the response is more marked as he can’t hold back, or maybe it’s that he chooses not to. The space of his mind is an abyssal sea composed of the same shadows that he can usually manipulate so freely, but they’re kept quiet underneath the cool composure of the gentleman that Sebastian values so much. In the sharp feeling of that eye being destroyed without relief, he lashes out like a trapped animal. It’s an oil that assaults Communion full of eyes that watch and beasty teeth that grin, bone-white from the abyss. It’s not visual so much as an impression, yet there’s still something monstrous in that dark.
It only lasts as long as the pain and as the spear as held in place, but those vicious mouths speak. It’s a cacophony of growls, hisses, and low-pitched murmurs, all speaking some language that’s unrecognizable and overlapping, but that drips with malevolence. Whatever they’re saying remains a mystery, but the tone and the feelings behind them are clear.
This is what a demon is—a nightmare shoved into physical form, and all its instincts say that it won’t stop until it eats you alive. ]