#mimlight

Starving, even.

Ravenous— for the taste of blood, for the way muscle and flesh rip when he gets a hand in just the right place and pulls, for the thick, heavy texture of meat on his tongue.

For the strange flavor of buttercream frosting, the dual sweetness of sponge cake and pudding, for the leftover crumbs his MiM swipes from the plate with his thumb for Nightlight to mouth at. For fruit drizzled with honey, paired with cheese, paired with wine. For sherbert in synthetic green crystal bowls that chime when someone clacks a spoon against them.

For the feeling of sinking his dagger into a Fearling and crushing it in his hands.

For the scream of a Nightmare when he swings his lance into position and drives it home.

For the gurgle of a Dream Pirate with their throat slit.

For mango, cut into delicate little slivers by manicured fingers. For peppermint and cookies and the smell of burnt sugar, for tiny chocolates shaped like seashells that hide caramel in the center. For smoked fish, wild game. For camomile tea and cubes of Turkish Delight that come from nowhere-anywhere.

For the taste of his Katherine, who smells like ink and featherdown.