â–¤ = falling asleep on them. - freyja
send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse ---
The gentle weight of her head fell upon its shoulder—weary, tired. Unguarded. It smiles faintly, the yellow flames of its burning like funeral pyres in the darkness of her room. This is where it thrives—in the softness of the unspoken. The serpent, outstretched so lazily, languidly in her bed, is sanctified in the gauzy moonlight that draped over their slotted limbs—its beatific face shifts, quietly predatory, the sharpness of a claw raised to her cheek; it drags downward, wistfully, unhurriedly, without cutting, without abrasions or violence; no harm will come to you… have I not always been sweet to you, child? It whispers carried through the air with all the softness of a breeze, filling her skull with all the disarming grace butterfly fluttering its wings, finding all the hidden crevices of her to hide in. Rest… it's okay, it coaxes cruelly, a quiet, numbing balm over an injured soul, lulling her to sleep, soothing over wounds, seen and unseen, carrying her into the clutches of slumber with gentle hands.
Rest… are you not tired? Is this not what you've been longing for? He had come to answer her sinner's prayer, offering deliverance through surrender, devouring her so slowly, so she would not stir, not fight. This is how he enjoys his meals: complacent, willing. Rest in my arms, knowing that you are safe… forget everything else; the lies taste like honey on his tongue. The lulling coo of the serpent that slowly wrapped itself around her mortal coil tighter and tighter burrowing so deep, making a hole in her brain; it tucked her raven hair behind the delicate arch of her ear, watching her sleep, following her into her dreams, into the very depths of her subconscious where she could not fight it. Rest… Dream of me, and only of me…
