[ Everything is really too much all of the time. He's just a dirty stone from the woods that people picked up and polished. He sits pretty on a shelf and people comment on that for him, like the translucency of his surface is a quality to be adored. He's clean enough on the surface, nice enough to look at and keep around.
Some strange sentimentality people project on him that keeps them from skipping him over the waters to drown under the still surface of some lake in the woods. ]
Then Camille turns. Walks away. Leaves. Even paced in the footing, even as her breath quickens, face heats.
He fucking hates you.
How can he not? After a display like that? Snapping at him, like it's his fault she's back to walking the earth and he's letting her down by, what, feeling the same damn misery she is?
And he has that thing whispering to him. It's not like the abstract urges she'd felt that week. It's alive, with thoughts and sentiments that make too much sense to ignore.
The moment she's out of his sight, she bolts. Far, far, far. Not even a full day back and she's shot one good thing dead to the ground.]
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Some strange sentimentality people project on him that keeps them from skipping him over the waters to drown under the still surface of some lake in the woods. ]
Fine. I heard you.
But I really do need you to leave right now.
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Then Camille turns. Walks away. Leaves. Even paced in the footing, even as her breath quickens, face heats.
He fucking hates you.
How can he not? After a display like that? Snapping at him, like it's his fault she's back to walking the earth and he's letting her down by, what, feeling the same damn misery she is?
And he has that thing whispering to him. It's not like the abstract urges she'd felt that week. It's alive, with thoughts and sentiments that make too much sense to ignore.
The moment she's out of his sight, she bolts. Far, far, far. Not even a full day back and she's shot one good thing dead to the ground.]