( people make mistakes, she could say, an ancient echo of that girl aleksander had dragged from the mud, polished until she was shining. it hadn't been a mistake, then, no matter how she had sunk claws into the last vestiges of a normal life until the illusion teared. she doubts it's a mistake now, in this new cage, every part of it as gilded and indulgent as the little palace, even if she has little idea of what collar they mean to place on her.
so — she swallows down the lie, under the distinct impression he would be able to scent a drop of her uncertainty, anyway, like a shark following a trail of blood in the water. there's a coy twist of her mouth, in its place, sharing some secret joke with herself when she drawls: )
Oh. Like typical royalty, then. You're already halfway there.
( it's not as cutting as her tongue could be. there's something to be said that there's a mercifulness to her biting, like she's enjoying it even as she's tempted to bristle — a back-and-forth that results in nothing more than kittens exchanging swatting paws. perhaps she would be bothered more, if his interest was more easily hidden, glinting in her periphery like treasure hidden in a shipwreck — a swollen tell that belies his arrogant nonchalance.
if nothing else, that's its own sort of power. one that seems safer to explore, than testing the tight, faltering leash she has on her abilities, the urges they inspire. )
That isn't entirely what I mean, ( she corrects after a moment, drifting toward the corner's edge. it provides the leverage she needs to arch her foot beneath the bubbles, prodding it indolently into his ankle. guilelessly playful, somehow, even as something charged thickens the air, an electric anticipation of a thundersome. )
I meant you don't look suited to sharing authority with anyone. Why should I rise to the top, if there's nothing worth having there? Or have you forgotten that a person can be just as alone at the top as they are the bottom?
( case in point: sankta alina, in the flesh, somehow elevated and reduced to a lonely pawn all at once. )
no subject
so — she swallows down the lie, under the distinct impression he would be able to scent a drop of her uncertainty, anyway, like a shark following a trail of blood in the water. there's a coy twist of her mouth, in its place, sharing some secret joke with herself when she drawls: )
Oh. Like typical royalty, then. You're already halfway there.
( it's not as cutting as her tongue could be. there's something to be said that there's a mercifulness to her biting, like she's enjoying it even as she's tempted to bristle — a back-and-forth that results in nothing more than kittens exchanging swatting paws. perhaps she would be bothered more, if his interest was more easily hidden, glinting in her periphery like treasure hidden in a shipwreck — a swollen tell that belies his arrogant nonchalance.
if nothing else, that's its own sort of power. one that seems safer to explore, than testing the tight, faltering leash she has on her abilities, the urges they inspire. )
That isn't entirely what I mean, ( she corrects after a moment, drifting toward the corner's edge. it provides the leverage she needs to arch her foot beneath the bubbles, prodding it indolently into his ankle. guilelessly playful, somehow, even as something charged thickens the air, an electric anticipation of a thundersome. )
I meant you don't look suited to sharing authority with anyone. Why should I rise to the top, if there's nothing worth having there? Or have you forgotten that a person can be just as alone at the top as they are the bottom?
( case in point: sankta alina, in the flesh, somehow elevated and reduced to a lonely pawn all at once. )