[He nods silently, pulling in another breath that's just as audible as the last. His tone is small, exhausted, yet behind it is a vehemence he tries to control, a spark that threatens to burn him alive if he lets it.]
I think I do, too.
[He hasn't felt that in a while, not truly. The bestial fury of his Natural Soul is one thing, but this is something deeper, something more him than his own skin or chosen name.]
I don't like it. Don't like how it keeps me warm down to my bones. How it makes my heart pound in my chest like it's something to be desired.
[He might struggle with what desire is supposed to feel like, but he knows that much.]
I've never hated anyone or anything. [ She thinks. But when her thoughts travel back to the Black Rose, to Kino and Elora, her thoughts darken. ] And yet, all I can feel is...
[ Agony. Rage. Perhaps she owes Silco and Hubert apologies for acting as though she is above the fire that threatens to consume her. She knows some of this is the other soul, the predator-prey instinct to be so viscerally against that which threatens you. That which threatens others of your flock, your brood. But some of this is her own, something she has to reconcile with. She has never had to taste the bitterness of oppression before, nor the sting of fear around being puppeted. For all that she has experienced with the Black Rose, so much of it was temporary.
Here, it is ever present. It is a reminder of her own cruelty, her failures. She is starting to understand it better. But she knows what Pom speaks of: the warm grip of something like validation when she gives in to the instinct to hunt, to defend, to snap, to tear. ]
No, I... I feel it too. I thought I could contain it if I left it to small bouts of hunting on my own. [ Hunting, not killing. Practice. Or eating something small, as one can. ] This runs so much deeper. I have to catch myself but I find it's happening more and more.
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I think I do, too.
[He hasn't felt that in a while, not truly. The bestial fury of his Natural Soul is one thing, but this is something deeper, something more him than his own skin or chosen name.]
I don't like it. Don't like how it keeps me warm down to my bones. How it makes my heart pound in my chest like it's something to be desired.
[He might struggle with what desire is supposed to feel like, but he knows that much.]
no subject
[ Agony. Rage. Perhaps she owes Silco and Hubert apologies for acting as though she is above the fire that threatens to consume her. She knows some of this is the other soul, the predator-prey instinct to be so viscerally against that which threatens you. That which threatens others of your flock, your brood. But some of this is her own, something she has to reconcile with. She has never had to taste the bitterness of oppression before, nor the sting of fear around being puppeted. For all that she has experienced with the Black Rose, so much of it was temporary.
Here, it is ever present. It is a reminder of her own cruelty, her failures. She is starting to understand it better. But she knows what Pom speaks of: the warm grip of something like validation when she gives in to the instinct to hunt, to defend, to snap, to tear. ]
No, I... I feel it too. I thought I could contain it if I left it to small bouts of hunting on my own. [ Hunting, not killing. Practice. Or eating something small, as one can. ] This runs so much deeper. I have to catch myself but I find it's happening more and more.