The Archer and The Airship » 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕝𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕕 «

Chapter Sixty Four

64. Become the Blade

"i am a sword. if i
am not the sword,
then who am i?"
-lauren roberts

⤐

Rage was a living thing festering in Zeppelin's heart, rotting the organ into an unrecognizable blackness. She felt it coiling tightly along her bones, draining her veins and nipping at her heels like the incessant bite of the Georgia chiggers.

It consumed her.

She sat on the bottom step of the porch and tugged on her boots, trying to ignore that gnawing pit of guilt curdling in her stomach. She was selfish.

Selfish for letting Daryl kiss her and touch her into the early hours of the night, the moonlight washing over their skin when the hushed whisper in the back of her mind begged to be heard.

She was selfish for needing that release, for letting herself give in to the most primal of human instincts in an effort to seal away the darkness.

After, when she went to relieve herself, she couldn't stand the reflection staring back at her in the bathroom mirror. She'd been quiet since.

Daryl had let her keep to herself while they prepared to leave for Alexandria, occasionally brushing a hand on her arm or knocking a finger below her chin as they passed each other. The overwhelming gratefulness to have someone who understood her so well, better than she knew herself, was almost enough to wash out the rage.
  
But when she watched herself shove her favorite dagger into its holster on her hip, she caught sight of the gash marring her skin, and it all came rushing back.
  
Now, she picked at her broken nails as she waited for Daryl to join her and listened to the wind whistle through the budding trees. She hadn't noticed when spring had started blanketing the forest, coating the grass in pearly dew drops and reviving the leaves sprinkled along branches.
  
Annoyed with both herself and how the world seemed to keep rushing by, she pushed herself off the step and stretched her arms over her head. Tension popped and released in her neck, sending warm trails of electricity barreling down her spine.
  
The sound of footsteps plodding through the door had her turning to face them, and warmth pooled in the base of her spine for entirely different reasons.
  
She could hardly see Daryl, clad in all black, but she could feel the intensity behind his stare as he made his way down to her.

  "You ready, Ace?"
  
The words felt more like an omen than a question, but Zepp nodded anyway. She brushed her fingers against the bandage wrapped around his hand, and he twirled them through his own.

   "I'm good," Daryl reassured her quietly, but not softly. "Promise."
  
Some small part of her wanted to snap that she didn't believe his promises anymore, and almost immediately, the rational voice inside her head that rarely made itself known snapped back at her. She hated that she even thought of saying something so hateful to him, the man who'd never done anything but fight for her, and she rolled her shoulders to release some of the tension radiating down her neck.