tugs at her tie, to bring their faces at the same height. makima only wants to inspect her beloved corpse. ♡♡♡
They've done this dance before , conquest waltzing into the hunter's life without care for whose toes she may step on along the way . Whatever blood may spill is of little interest , whatever bodies may fall nothing more than dust amongst their stage . When their faces meet , there's no room to consider any semblance of sincerity within Makima — she does not truly see Quanxi , only a vessel . A puppet , fragile , her usefulness and her life fleeting . The moment strings entangle , overwhelmed by the web devil weaves , she will be snipped . Forgotten , as all the others were the moment Makima grew bored of them .
She's never been one to be complacent . Playing along , keeping up this act of adoration , it sickens her .
Yet ... there is a part of her intoxicated by the resentment . She begins to lose track of where her desires begin , and where Makima's end . Suppose love and hate are two sides of the same coin . Mm , maybe not love , but ...
Maybe the line between fucking someone and fucking someone over begin to blur .
' ... Been looking a while . Not like you to waste this much time , Makima . '
