sdc shitpost blog

She has drunk from most of the crowd when at last her love appears. Jonathan- Dio could never forget her- is as tall and splendid as always, a glorious flower of a woman. So handsome, so kind, so stupid, and yet so perfect. There have been so many worlds and so many disappointments, and yet-

Every time their gazes meet across a crowded room, it makes the whole search worthwhile. It makes the sad life of godhood worth living. Dio is always so hungry, and these glimpses of her Jonathan are the only thing that make her whole. 

She crosses the room. She beckons Jonathan to dance. At the first touch, Dio knows that this Jonathan is not her Jonathan, though the similarities run deep, but the semblance is close. So close. Dio could be happy here for months and years, basking in this substitute, but sooner or later she would tire. She would throw a temper tantrum and destroy this beautiful substitute, who is not strong enough to withstand her. This is not the one. 

After tonight she will leave this world for the next, still searching, but for tonight, just for this one night- she allows herself to pretend. She places her pale head on Jonathan’s shoulder, and Jonathan permits it. It is not the done thing for two women to dance, and yet, who would dare to stop her? Who would dare to touch her?

Only Jonathan. Jonathan, whose arms encircle Dio’s waist, who clasps Dio close enough to feel the warmth of her body and hear the beat of that splendid heart. 

“I know you,” Jonathan whispers.

“I know you too,” Dio replies. She tucks her head under Jonathan’s chin. “But I am not the one you are looking for. She will come. Your Dio.”

“And who are you?” Jonathan whispers tenderly. She has not yet learned that they are enemies as well as lovers, and Dio cherishes that beautiful innocence. Jonathan is so beautiful like this, as yet unstained by Dio’s fingerprints. She is like a bud. After Dio is done with her she will be a blossom. 

“I am the one who has ascended,” Dio says, knowing it will mean nothing to this lovely, familiar stranger. “Do not waste the night on questions.” Jonathan’s lips part as if she might speak, and Dio watches the minute movements of her neck, mesmerized by the sweet arch of her throat. She presses her lips to it. They move through the dance in silence, now parting to join the lines, now returning to clasp each other close. Over and over, step by step, moment by moment they go through the same dance that Dio has traced a thousand times. 

“Will I see you again?” Jonathan asks when they part. Dio speaks for her counterpart when she speaks, and she speaks for herself. 

“Yes,” she says. “Always.”