[If it were meant to get a reaction out of him (and he figures not--she knows him), it doesn't. Perhaps just a flick downward of his gaze to follow the fruit as it splatters to the ground, rotten.
A shame.
In the roaring gale it would almost be hard to hear her vehement whisper, except he always does. It's why he stands as still as he does for a moment.
We're linked, aren't we, Sister? Even in death.
Tell him, how long have you been hiding your form now?]
Rhode, dear. [His back still to her, his tone really is nothing but loving, ever the lazy care as velvet is over a knife.
Lazy, calm, catlike gold. Does it remind you of someone?
Fierce, focused, polite. Does it remind you of someone else?
See, you've never truly been without him. Never able to be without him.]
You misunderstand. [And he turns then, coattails still whipping in the storm, hands tucked deep in pockets and as at ease as if it were a summer day.
Do note, though--he'll never tread on the spilled fruit.]
If one is to be Adam, then who is Eve?
(Read comments)
Post a comment in response:
scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by 
hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status
