Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
0. prologue
HE HELD HER. He shouldn't have, they both knew it, but he did it anyway. Limbs tangled with limbs and skin molded to skin, his arms had kept her where he so desperately needed her and kept her where she so desperately needed to be. See, the thing about the Devil of Hell's Kitchen—no—the thing about Matthew Murdock was that he was easy to love. He was made up of bloodied knuckles, bruised cheeks, and scarred skin, but also of wide smiles, gentle hands, and forgiveness.
Forgiveness.
She, however, was made up of death and death alone, and she wasn't proud of it. She didn't enjoy the kill. If she could hide away from it in Matt Murdock's apartment for the rest of her life, she would, and he would let her because he loved her. So, it was good to assume that he was made up of that too—of love for her.
And he was a fool for it. He was a fool to love a woman who'd put a knife to his throat as he slept, dreaming of fire and poison and her. He realized now that those were all one in the same. His palms had burned where her skin had heated beneath them. His lips had grown weak when they met hers. And although he didn't know what she really looked like, his hands told him the stories his eyes couldn't. He wanted to commit each one to memory so that he could recite them to anyone who would listen.
She was a quick poison, it would seem, but he was even quicker.
A few words from him had her rethinking her plans, and for the first time, she was looking for a way out. Out of her life, out of the deals she'd made, and out of all the lies she'd told to get to that moment.
There was no way out, though, and no matter how many white lies spilled past Matthew's lips and seeped into her veins, he couldn't save her. And no matter how many times he went to Confession to seek forgiveness—no matter how many hours he spent praying for a better life for her, there were some things that couldn't be remedied. Giving up, however, had never been in his nature, and maybe he would've been better off it was.
He was a fool. He was a fool. He was a fool.
He held her, and, God, he shouldn't have, but he was too far gone to let go now.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
hey! this is painfully short, but thanks for reading. -syd
