"You've suffered so long."
[✾] — Saitou’s gaze slides slowly towards the object cradled in the woman’s outstretched hands. That beautiful ruby glimmer. It sings with the promise to ease the mist choking his thoughts, the tension knotting his muscles, the feral scraping which gnaws and gnaws at lung and heart and rib and nerve. Yes, he thirsts.
He cannot remember the last time blood or bead slaked his dry throat, his wavering senses. He is limb sore and aching. His thoughts are less a voice and more a steadily rising growl. Yes, he should drink. But he does not wish to. Even as veins crawl like black ivy across his skin.
Saitou looks away from the offered gift. It is a precious, limited resource. And he is a lonesome blade, driving at the darkness of the depths. Alone, whittling away, the metal of his resolve threatening to splinter. He cannot let their memory perish, their dreams fade away. But he does not want to take this from her. She should partake of the bead herself. He can find his own way to feed.
“I have no need of it,” he says, his voice quieter than usual, sinking beneath the strain.
@shuurin
