Post by Lyra d'Aiglemort on Aug 14, 2021 19:55:48 GMT -8
There were many shades and hues of embarrassment and Lyra was familiar with all of them. They were her cloak and shield, as constant a companion as her fluttering heart, or the knife Father had given her. If Lyra didn’t understand friendship in the conventional sense, then at least she felt that way towards embarrassment, the sort of old friend you invited over again and again because the same conversations meant no surprises.
That was why she didn’t like it when the familiar twisted around to sink fangs into her wrist. Latching on at the pulse and beating-beating-beating, because this too wasn’t a new feeling, but she’d forgotten what it was like for embarrassment to genuinely hurt.
Lyra’s eyes dropped down and then away. She studied the many bottles of alcohol and liquor lining the shelves like some testament to humanity’s desire to loosen the stranglehold just that much. People hadn’t learned it was the little gasps that ruined you.
“Yeah. I guess I do care.”
She laughed like it didn’t come up as razors. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I should know better.” Better than to play at truth. Better than to lose track of what she meant and what she meant.
Lyra always lost but normally there was more satisfaction. Vix wasn’t even trying anymore and still she flayed too close, too deep, metal scraping bone. Blood from a rock was impossible but blood from bone was all too likely.
Father would be disappointed. That stung worse than knowing Vix had seen her mistake. Was staring now at her marrow and the failure embedded in her DNA.
Exhaustion flooded her body as if someone had injected concrete. Lyra lilted just so the bar would hold her up. Her glass was heavy in her hand, and she stared at it trying to figure out where the glass ended and her skin began. That should be a simple answer.
“Of course. There’s no contest. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.” Lyra mustered up the energy for platitudes. She wobbled slightly dragging her eyes to Vix’s face. And even now, pinned open in vivisection, Lyra couldn’t help but reach for the same irrational sentiment that had brought her here.
“I’m glad. I’m glad you’re okay. I wish everyone could be okay."
That was why she didn’t like it when the familiar twisted around to sink fangs into her wrist. Latching on at the pulse and beating-beating-beating, because this too wasn’t a new feeling, but she’d forgotten what it was like for embarrassment to genuinely hurt.
Lyra’s eyes dropped down and then away. She studied the many bottles of alcohol and liquor lining the shelves like some testament to humanity’s desire to loosen the stranglehold just that much. People hadn’t learned it was the little gasps that ruined you.
“Yeah. I guess I do care.”
She laughed like it didn’t come up as razors. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I should know better.” Better than to play at truth. Better than to lose track of what she meant and what she meant.
Lyra always lost but normally there was more satisfaction. Vix wasn’t even trying anymore and still she flayed too close, too deep, metal scraping bone. Blood from a rock was impossible but blood from bone was all too likely.
Father would be disappointed. That stung worse than knowing Vix had seen her mistake. Was staring now at her marrow and the failure embedded in her DNA.
Exhaustion flooded her body as if someone had injected concrete. Lyra lilted just so the bar would hold her up. Her glass was heavy in her hand, and she stared at it trying to figure out where the glass ended and her skin began. That should be a simple answer.
“Of course. There’s no contest. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.” Lyra mustered up the energy for platitudes. She wobbled slightly dragging her eyes to Vix’s face. And even now, pinned open in vivisection, Lyra couldn’t help but reach for the same irrational sentiment that had brought her here.
“I’m glad. I’m glad you’re okay. I wish everyone could be okay."