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"The world was on fire and no one could save me but you It's strange what desire will make foolish people do" Chris Isaak - Wicked Game
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Jimin
She is under me, and not in the way that I would like.
A strange mark is across her fair skin, made slightly deeper from the sun. Two torn crescents, the shape of fangs if they sink into unwilling skin. A scar that is left when Immortui takes it without being given permission.
So why was that mark on Aera?
His fingers ached to brush over the wound, but he did not. Instead of pulling back from her entirely. Though he did not wish to make her feel like a spectacle, still he could not stop his mind from moving impulsively at the rapid pace of his heart. He felt a deep rage that burned deeper than what his mother had instilled in him. Because it was not herself who could have made those marks.
It was someone. And that someone deserved to die for what they did.
"It is none of your concern." She answered stoically, still lying on her back. She elegantly pulled her hair back over the mark.
He could still see it. The image was burned into the back of his skull.
"Aera." He breathed her name through his nose. His hands clutched at the material of the bed as he pulled away, trying to slow his breaths so that he did not implode with shadow and indirectly cause damage to her once again. "I am hanging on by a single thread. Tell me. Do not bring me to madness."
More than you already do.
Her jade eyes met his own, and he almost collapsed. Gone was their shiny resilience, instead replaced with uncertainty. The wounds had sunken deeper within her, leaving their mark in other ways.
"I cannot take your blood. That is all you need to know. I am sure you can figure it out." Her hesitance turned to vehemence within a second, leaving him stunned. A bear caught by a trap, injured and lashing out at whoever dared to bring aid.
"Aera." He grew more frustrated. The man would not force her, ever. But he could tell from the way that she squirmed that she had yet to talk about what happened enough. It clung to her, a phantom. "Whoever did this-"
Jimin did not expect to be sent sprawling back with a rough push from the woman below him. He was even more shocked when the same woman began to cry, her lovely face turned rose-colored. Her green eyes were a violent sea against a smoldering sunset, her red lips bared over sharp teeth. Striking and devastating beyond measure. He held up his hands, waiting for an explanation for her erratic behavior. She hated him, but the look she was giving him now was beyond abomination. It promised violence.
