Nothing's Conventional About Us

XVIII ~ Amaranth

When they named the flower
They merely named it 'everlasting',
They should have, in good sense,
Mentioned the nature of this
Everlasting amaranth -
Dark or light, joy or sorrow,
War or peace?

Amaranth

She woke up to a chill that crept up her arms, her spine and the roots of her hair. Her eyes opened to the unfamiliar cold surroundings of a misty morning hue that did nothing to calm her nerves.

Thirteen calm breaths later, her heart had fallen back into the absolutely normal pace. No haste, no peril.

Her eyes, now focused, scanned her surroundings.

Yesternight, she had not had the opportunity to so much as glimpse at whatever lay around in here. It has all been so very quick. They so very deep - figuratively and literally, in every way.

She closed her eyes and let the heated memories flood her and warm up every inch of her skin.

But as she looked around she realised that nothing has ever seemed so terribly detailed. As if the world had been laid bare at her feet. As if the air was colder than it was meant to be and warmer than should be fathomable, all at once.

She sat up, the air licking her skin like lapping water. As if it had quite as many undertones as river water could. As if she could even feel the hint of soil in it like sand.

And it smelled like blood. No, not blood. Like ichor. Like what used to be a minor undertone in her demigoddess blood. Like what the training arena had smelled like that day. Like what he smelled like. 

So, no. Not mere ichor. His ichor. 

She threw aside the amaranth sheet and brought her hand to her heart. Why did everything feel so... She had no words. As if the emptiness had sucked her voice out of her, consumed her words and blatantly refused to return so much as a single syllable. 

She whipped her head towards the fireplace. It was still burning - an illusory warmth. Her each breath burnt her lungs, as she hastily scrambled out of bed. Her dark glossy mane of silken locks tumbled down to over her otherwise completely exposed skin like a velvet curtain, the cool of them almost scathing her otherwise hot skin. 

She picked up a black sheer lace robe and wrapped it around herself. It certainly did nothing to cover her, except provide a sense of modesty. But it did more than that for her. In its colour she could almost smell him. Like she could smell him in each pore and particle of herself. 

The coldness seemed to recede. 

~~~

The inside of the manor seemed to be times larger than she had assumed it to be from the outside. Or from vague memories of the night before. Well, she barely remembered anything from the night before. 

Anything but him. His touches, his eyes, his smell, his lips and tongue and blood and so, so much more of him. 

Hell, she could still feel him. Between her legs. Inside herself. 

And she could feel-

Her heartbeat stilled for a moment. 

She had not thought of-

Oh, but that was a lie. She knew what was happening. What had been about to happen. They had both been aware of the obvious outcomes of the mating. 

It was never fruitless. Ever. 

She could barely breathe anymore as the chill settling in her heart gripped her insides in a vice-like grip. 

She had doomed someone. Doomed the dearest to her to everything that she could never truly want for them. She had let her reason drown and her desire triumph.