americanvvitch | (Reply)

the terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue

I feel it in my blood
In the fire and the flood
The beast that can't be killed
Even now you mark my steps
Lovely bitter water
All the days of our delights are poison in my veins
I know I shouldn't love you
I know

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From:

devildo

Alastor hummed in consideration and approval. It was nothing less than the truth and the truth nothing less than he expected from Lotte's discernment, but it was still nice to hear it, to hear the power of himself flowing from the lips of another.

They whispered about him, in hell. In veiled threats and vague statements, because they didn't really know. It was all speculation. Lotte saw him act (not kill, but act), and lived to tell the tale. She could surmise.

He shrugged, letting the matter of the blood roll off him. That vial in his living room would continue on, glowing in the reverb of the neverending flame that stoked the fire. A piece of her would stay there, down in hell, cold and untouched, waiting. The rest of her would be up here, with him, for as long as they both willed it, and what need did he have for some small piece of her held close to the vest like a prize, then?

He had all of her.

What did that mean?

Surely not much, not to someone like him, not in a thousand senses. But there it was.

Alastor regarded her with narrow eyes, shrouded in smoke and sharp speculation. "Do you, now?" he asked with a laugh. If she really had a broom, he would be hard pressed to deny her the flight. "No, I think we'll go more quickly than that. I have a place ready for you, did you know? How do you imagine that? I should be sure it stacks up to your...anticipations."