𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙀𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨: 𝘽𝙤𝙤𝙠 1
"I'd love to see you in a pretty silk dress"
"Would you?"
"So I can tear it off you"
"If you rip my pretty silk dress I'll blacken your eye"
____________
Marya Prescott may appear innocent on the su...
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The shower shut off exactly 35 minutes ago and between all this sickening void I grew impassive by the minute although I knew that she was a few square meters away in the connected bathroom.
I wanted to give her time. A period to inhale once more after being abandoned in the shadows for an extended period, a period to gather her thoughts, a period for her fresh life to establish itself deeply within the confines of her mind. Permit her to take everything in, and let the dust settle, and I was aware that by the time she emerged, the adrenaline would have drained her to the brink of fatigue.
Staying at my parent's house tonight, meant that we couldn't save ourselves from the awkward, where am I sleeping conversations occurring, particularly because everyone in the household bearing the Vitalis name assumed we were engaged. Given her current situation, they would have expected her to rely on me more than ever.
I doubt that she would want to face me after what had happened to her for the past 48 hours.
Forty-eight hours of pure suffering due to her being my fiancee, hours in the dark, hours bloodied and bruised.
As soon as we forced our way through the doors and stepped inside the building, it was as if we had stepped into a different world, the warehouse eerily silent and motionless, as though death itself had passed through and taken every living being. The chill of the faint glow from the flickering lightbulbs led us cautiously, our guns at the ready, through every hallway and passage until we finally reached the coldest one in the entire building.
As the door swung open, the light warmed a path to a little body curled at the edge of the room, beaten to the visibility of raw flesh. Her skin displayed a mosaic of bruises in rich hues of black and blue, while remnants of dried blood smeared her tattered clothing, mingling with the knots in her matted hair. As Silas checked for danger, all I could think about was fingers pressing against her soft translucent skin and how unbearably cold and deathly it felt under the touch. I slipped my arm beneath her neck and gathered her legs in a tender embrace, lifting her close. Pressing her against me, I could only wish that my warmth might flow into her, giving her the strength to fight on, if it could, I would allow her to drain me.
As we traveled back from Chicago, she drifted in and out of consciousness, her long lashes betraying her struggle as her eyes sought the light. The Russian miscreant believed he had damaged her irreparably, believed he had shattered and scattered her into pieces so that she could never reconstruct herself. It served as a caution to me that her fragmented pieces would instead cut me deeply. But he didn't consider the true strength of Marya, who would use the sharpest shard of herself to defeat him, to harm him until he was no more.
The door's creak halted the restless bounce off my knee, allowing my gaze to trace the path of her legs, steam swirling around her like a veil. The oversized boxers and t-shirt I had lent her enveloped her figure, just as her gaze had the power to consume me. A divine being. A celestial spirit. The last flicker of goodness in this darkened world.
