#sal

"You'll never let me back in," Theo says, and then is surprised she said it, her eyes widening.

"You know I keep your spine mounted above my bed?" Sal says, lightly. "I had it dipped in gold first. You are my finest creation. Were it up to me, the door would always be open to you."

"I thought it was up to you," Theo says. Sal's nails dig deeper, tracing through her hair. They always leave scratches in Theo, but it's less enthusiastic now that she and Nico are done.

"It used to be," Sal says, tone still light, but strained. "None of us are who we used to be. But no one pretends like you."

"No one pretends like me," Theo agrees, sighing.

"Good girl. Now, who should we kill to announce you're not letting them put you down yet?" Sal asks, cocking their head.

"I'm your ventriloquist puppet, aren't I? Why don't you tell me?"

"What's gotten into you, hmm?" Sal drags their nails down Theo's neck, one hand curling around her throat, fingers drumming against the skin.

"Just your hand," Theo says, then flashes one of her glory-days blinding grins, showing off all of the decorative teeth Sal made for her, bugs and flowers encased in resin. "Just the way you like it."

Sal laughs, softly, digging their nails in and making two puncture wounds in Theo's neck, with their usual surgical precision. Marking her. "As long as it's just me in there."

"It's always just been you."

"You're losing your touch," Sal says. "Must we return to the very basics of lying?"

"It's always mostly been you."