the sound of a crystalline pour floods the room. do you see, boy ? my breath is merely a formality. a scarlet droplet slides from her nail into the whiskey. lilith halts, eyelashes fluttering. the blood plummets, little red ribbons dissipating in plumes. that is from earlier . no matter : it is not her blood . she puts her finger in the glass and stirs until the whiskey is darker, but almost imperceptibly thorough. turning back to that BOY , her next wicked feast , she licks her finger clean like a beast.
❝ here we are . ❞ she prizes one bloodless glass close to her ribs, and extends the other to him. she can smell the soul threaded in him, seething in him, bursting out and bleeding slick motor oil & sad liquor. she sits. this is her domain, and she is not a thing one might cast aside. she is a creature one must eye closely : it is the dark lord’s will to leave her here even in the aftermath of all that blood . but no mortal ought feel they could dare . ❝ now. i want you to select your next words with great care : what is it that you’ve come here seeking, thomas shelby ? what is it that you desire ? dead things ? or things that have never yet been born ? ❞
ɴ ᴏ ᴡ ﹐ ɪ ᴡ ᴀ ɴ ᴛ ʏ ᴏ ᴜ ᴛ ᴏ s ᴇ ʟ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ ʏ ᴏ ᴜ ʀ ᴡ ᴏ ʀ ᴅ s ᴡ ɪ ᴛ ʜ ɢ ʀ ᴇ ᴀ ᴛ ᴄ ᴀ ʀ ᴇ . her voice hung between them, both a warning and a welcome, cold all the same. he stared down at the blood - polluted glass extended to him and fought — like a good soldier, which he was ; which he H A D B E E N — the urge to swat at the back of his ears, for it felt as thought something was swimming in there aside from his own thoughts, which were numerous and overwhelming even during peacetime. A L L H E D I D W A S T H I N K. that was what he told people. all he did was think so that others didn’t have to, and now, when thinking was needed from him the most, he could not flip through his rolodex fast enough. he could not yet pick the words to narrow down his distinct desire, his distinct need, exactly as he pleased.
but she was a smart woman, he knew, and where intelligence meant only so much without power, power meant only so much without intelligence. she was in possession of both, and he did not, at any point, intend on insulting either.
so he took the glass, blood and all, and thanked her.
I W A N T Y O U, she’d said, T O S E L E C T Y O U R W O R D S W I T H G R E A T C A R E. he did not take a drink -- not yet -- as his stomach still turned at the thought, but he held onto it and watched her with intent. ❝ i don’t have a use for dead things . ❞ the dead were dead. there were enough people who died around him, B E A C A U S E O F H I M, that seeking what had once existed, as opposed to what could exist, meant nothing to him. death, he knew, was permanent.
❝ i’m surprised, though, that you cannot discern for yourself . ❞ he took his sip then, blood and all, the gentle hint of metallic mixed with the gut - punch strength of the whiskey, and after that he felt nothing. ❝ i would’ve thought a woman of your vision would’ve known what i want as soon as i walked through the door. ❞
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