[ He doesn't have to explain for her to recognize that she is being both weighed and judged. She can feel it in the weight of his gaze, the way he seemed to look into her very soul. And... well, he is an angel. That's probably something he can actually do. There's no hiding from it if it is, and no point in trying — she's always been simply who she is, and if that now includes something monstrous...
But then. But then.
He leaves so quickly after saying that words that she's barely able to process them. If he'd taken an hour in his departure, she might have still been processing what he said. He's... helping her? And offering to take her down if that's what it comes to. As strange as it might be to absolutely anyone else, Elena appreciates that more than she could ever say.
So pray she does, as hard as she can, harder than she ever has before because it's the only thing keeping her rooted to that spot on the ground. One slip and she'll go running to the town, to all those heartbeats. And then he's back and a bowl is in her hands, a knife in his.
He's really doing this. She stares up at him in disbelief and hope, some part of her still so afraid — that she'll hurt him, that he'll take away this precious offer. ]
Thank you.
[ They're the only words she can say. And when the blood begins to spill, it takes more control than she'd known she had to stay perfectly still, barely even breathing as the veins darken beneath her eyes and she watches the bowl slowly fill. So slowly. ]
Stop.
[ It's not enough, barely half the bowl when she could drain him dry and still not be satisfied, but her control is slipping and she needs him to stop so she can drink. ]
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But then. But then.
He leaves so quickly after saying that words that she's barely able to process them. If he'd taken an hour in his departure, she might have still been processing what he said. He's... helping her? And offering to take her down if that's what it comes to. As strange as it might be to absolutely anyone else, Elena appreciates that more than she could ever say.
So pray she does, as hard as she can, harder than she ever has before because it's the only thing keeping her rooted to that spot on the ground. One slip and she'll go running to the town, to all those heartbeats. And then he's back and a bowl is in her hands, a knife in his.
He's really doing this. She stares up at him in disbelief and hope, some part of her still so afraid — that she'll hurt him, that he'll take away this precious offer. ]
Thank you.
[ They're the only words she can say. And when the blood begins to spill, it takes more control than she'd known she had to stay perfectly still, barely even breathing as the veins darken beneath her eyes and she watches the bowl slowly fill. So slowly. ]
Stop.
[ It's not enough, barely half the bowl when she could drain him dry and still not be satisfied, but her control is slipping and she needs him to stop so she can drink. ]