[ A familiar sentence, a language he rarely uses around here — more often in his own realm, when he's feeling fully like himself. Something he'd never thought would change, something he had only dreamt about. Now here he stands, presenting himself as a nightmare only a girl can save. ]
Yours will.
[ One hand rests on Lottie's cheek. The other finds a place on her shoulder, and he sees nothing but her. His fangs keep showing between his lips, dangerously sharp. Ready. ]
Are you going to save me?
[ It doesn't matter what she says. He isn't letting go unless something makes him. ]
no subject
Yours will.
[ One hand rests on Lottie's cheek. The other finds a place on her shoulder, and he sees nothing but her. His fangs keep showing between his lips, dangerously sharp. Ready. ]
Are you going to save me?
[ It doesn't matter what she says. He isn't letting go unless something makes him. ]