She watched him study her wrist and its new scar, the red line stark against her pale skin. She wasn’t certain how she felt about her new mark, couldn’t decide what this new feature meant. She bruised easily, but rarely scarred, most of her childhood follies healing in days. As a girl, she was frequently trying to hide skinned knees and elbows, the symbols of her adventures outside. As a woman, her stories were rarely marked on her, apart from the few milky scars from her son. This was a different mark, a different act of devotion. Themis had asked him if she would need her own scars to aid him in their experiments; he never answered. Perhaps she understood, it was never Samuel’s decision, she had to reach this place on her own. She wondered if this would fade with time or would the magic she summoned leave the mark startling red for the world to see. There were ways to conceal imperfections, but Themis wasn’t convinced she would hide her badge of courage, she had earned it, after all.
What she wasn’t prepared for was the lingering sting. The scar on his arm felt warmer than the rest of his hand, the magic too near the surface in her veins reaching, calling out for touch. Her cut seemed too raw, as if her flesh would give way with the slightest suggestion to provide him with the life source beneath. Her body seemed eager to part with what it needed to survive, anything, should he ask. She would give him anything to calm the rising panic that she felt, but something in the darker recesses of her mind knew she would be back here once she regained some semblance of control. This would not be the last time she bled for him.
When he moved over her, her hands found his torso, needed to touch him even as his shirt obstructed her. She could mentally see the scars that mapped his chest and back, knew already the magic now carved into him. She wanted to trace the lines of him, learn the pattern that he immortalized. Something told her she would better understand the riddle of his skin now, that she was learning his language. Morbidly, she wondered if he would still touch her if she was as marked as he. Something in her bones, a feeling counter to every screaming impulse, warned her not to test the theory.
She could have wept when he began to tug at the laces of her dress, the fabric too confining now. She wanted the gory reminder of her actions removed, needed to be free of the metallic taste on her tongue and coppery tang in her nose. There had been so much blood, but the smell of it was overwhelming, overpowering. It shouldn’t be this strong, but it was there, blood and heat and need. She managed to wiggle free of the bodice of her dress, the relief immediate, but fleeting. She arched under him, pressing back against his weight, her hands pulling him closer still. Nothing made sense, the past few hours seeming to unravel around her. She sought answers in the one place they resided. Samuel was the key to this frightening puzzle. He burned like a star above her, too bright and hot to be contained by anything but the skies. How was he so composed when she was falling apart?
She could barely hear him over her heart pounding in her ears. But she heard what she needed. 'For her.' The idea that he would make any change to his world for her had her melting further, the thought alone too much to wrestle with. Amid the need and the anxiety in her eyes, there was a deep affection glowing. She answered him, her kiss gentle, reverent. "You are worth the chaos, wherever it leads."
What she wasn’t prepared for was the lingering sting. The scar on his arm felt warmer than the rest of his hand, the magic too near the surface in her veins reaching, calling out for touch. Her cut seemed too raw, as if her flesh would give way with the slightest suggestion to provide him with the life source beneath. Her body seemed eager to part with what it needed to survive, anything, should he ask. She would give him anything to calm the rising panic that she felt, but something in the darker recesses of her mind knew she would be back here once she regained some semblance of control. This would not be the last time she bled for him.
When he moved over her, her hands found his torso, needed to touch him even as his shirt obstructed her. She could mentally see the scars that mapped his chest and back, knew already the magic now carved into him. She wanted to trace the lines of him, learn the pattern that he immortalized. Something told her she would better understand the riddle of his skin now, that she was learning his language. Morbidly, she wondered if he would still touch her if she was as marked as he. Something in her bones, a feeling counter to every screaming impulse, warned her not to test the theory.
She could have wept when he began to tug at the laces of her dress, the fabric too confining now. She wanted the gory reminder of her actions removed, needed to be free of the metallic taste on her tongue and coppery tang in her nose. There had been so much blood, but the smell of it was overwhelming, overpowering. It shouldn’t be this strong, but it was there, blood and heat and need. She managed to wiggle free of the bodice of her dress, the relief immediate, but fleeting. She arched under him, pressing back against his weight, her hands pulling him closer still. Nothing made sense, the past few hours seeming to unravel around her. She sought answers in the one place they resided. Samuel was the key to this frightening puzzle. He burned like a star above her, too bright and hot to be contained by anything but the skies. How was he so composed when she was falling apart?
She could barely hear him over her heart pounding in her ears. But she heard what she needed. 'For her.' The idea that he would make any change to his world for her had her melting further, the thought alone too much to wrestle with. Amid the need and the anxiety in her eyes, there was a deep affection glowing. She answered him, her kiss gentle, reverent. "You are worth the chaos, wherever it leads."
![[Image: Bka0H0x.jpeg]](https://i.imgur.com/Bka0H0x.jpeg)