#loupns

@loupns​​​  sent:      ❛    i have yearned for the taste of your lips.    ❜      /      five senses,    not accepting.

—      a perfect silence,      coming and going like a thief in the night:      the air is fraught in its wake,       galvanized and awaiting discharge.      flora and fauna are soundless,      bereft of the constant shifting representative of life.      it is as if they are keenly aware of the precipice on which they stand,      wrought from plain - spoken utterance;      or a fissure,      perhaps,      that sets parties asunder;      or a doorway,      an opportunity for egress.      whatever its name,      it is apotheosis given form,      a desirous revelation that anticipates response.      the silence consumes elsa,      takes possession of her fingers and curls them into fists,      long nails digging crescent moons onto bloodless palms.      gaze remains steadfast on his,      devouring earnestness for all it is worth.      she can’t quite understand.      but what do i know of yearning?

 @loupns​​      ,        ❛     𝙾𝙷   ,   𝙻𝙾𝚁𝙳  .   𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻  𝙽𝙾   𝙾𝙽𝙴   𝚂𝙷𝚄𝚃   𝙼𝙴   𝚄𝙿   ?    ❜         /     x

❝     AM I SUPPOSED TO BE SCARED NOW  ?     ❞

@loupns​​  sent:      ❛    do you hear me?    stay away from me.    ❜      /      five senses,    accepting.

❛❛      because you are a monster?      ❜❜      the word is spat with all the disdain of one who once bore the epithet;      even now it stains her tongue with a vitriol that spring - water cannot wash away.      above them,      the full moon sits perched on the stygian sky like a silver torch,      swallowing starlight and taunting.      i am your master,      it seems to say,      and you will bow to me.      her gaze on him remains resolute,      defiance woven into the arch of her brow.      crystal eyes string a countermelody to the moon’s siren song      —      you will not make me leave.      perhaps there is wisdom to his fervent request,      distance a powerful deterrent to whatever peril he might pose,      drunk on moon - song and a primal power.      perhaps her obstinacy      —      scarcely present but extant nonetheless      —      is one such trait that will prove to be hamartia.      but she is no flimsy creature,      wrought from boreal winters and the tempestuous northern wind;      not once has she ever been as delicate as she ought to be,      arresting as she is.

❛❛        if you think yourself so    ...        ❜❜        the words that follow are acrid,      contrary to the creed she swore herself upon assuming the mantle of queen,      of guardian - spirit.      but he must understand,      and she has never been above using underhanded tactics upon the silent descent of desperation.        ❛❛        then you’d be delighted to know that you are not alone.        ❜❜