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[warning: power games/control, violence, death] death angels: making the blind
[Note: I wanted to write a reply to tolivealifeinflame's death angel stories. I hope I have the ideas right! Let me know if I don't. I just love this world. ;w;]
She doesn't leave the house much, so she didn't need the blind, until today. She doesn't need it with him at all, he is the only one she can never kill, and he knows she would never fight him. She would fight all the others, she would bite their throats, she would strangle them with her cold, cold hands but not him. She learned to go quiet when he strokes her face, when he runs his fingers through her hair.
It isn't fear, not quite. It isn't love, not quite. But it is something. Something deeper than most can understand.
So she doesn't need the blind, not with him, but he likes to press his fingers over the sockets of her eyes, feel the blood that throbs there, feel how close they are when his touch is on her skin. They are always close, more close than close, but every little bit closer is good.
It isn't love. But it's something.
He likes to remind her, too, what she is. Angel of death, killer in a small body, girl with a gorgon gaze. He likes to remind her with the touch of his hands against her eyelids, he likes to stroke her soft lashes closed and lean to whisper in an ear, "You're a monster."
Your monster, he knows she thinks, but does not say.
She never says much.
He doesn't need to bind her eyes, or her mouth, not even her hands, but his fingers press her eyes anyway, the cloth holds her wrists close, his lips cover her mouth.
She shivers, but she doesn't move, only where he guides and pushes her. So quiet, he whispers into her mouth, and it's almost kind. So quiet, so quiet. She nods, just a little bit. So quiet. She's not good at most games, can't remember the rules, but she can play this one.
He knows that makes her happy, that small showing of skill. And he can let her have that, that small happiness.
~
But today is different.
Today, they're going outside, and he needs to blind her. It doesn't matter that she's not dangerous to him, he never forgets that she is dangerous, little sharp thing with eyes of hell. So it needs to begin. His hands on her eyes, his lips on her mouth, won't keep things safe any more.
But they can still make it intimate.
She's sitting mute, as always, curled up in a chair with her eyes closed. He presses the cloth into her hands.
What is it? she asks without words, her eyebrows rising, her head tilting a little to the right.
"Look at it," he says. So she does, she opens her eyes, and for a moment even he shivers, to see the dark wells that are swirling inside her head.
Even with her eyes open, she sees it with her fingers more, running her hands across the texture of the silk. It's pretty, she doesn't say, with a little sound like a bird.
He nods. "It's going to be yours," he says. "Close your eyes. We'll do it together."
She makes a sound of surprise, but she does what she's told, and he puts the needle between her fingers, gentle, gentle. He doesn't have to be gentle, but this is a particular moment, this is not the time to for violence. A mood hangs in the air, and he doesn't want to break it. He lets her take it, hold it, press the point to the fabric, and then his hands guide hers, through the stitching of the cranes, blood red on snow white silk.
The stitches are not even, and by the time they are finished, the blind is made more of her blood and tears than the white silk and red thread. But it's powerful that way, too, blessed with liquid of life and death. He takes the blind from her bleeding fingers, shaking slightly with the pain, and presses it to her eyes with his fingertips... a recent memory that becomes old now, suddenly, with the weight of their both knowledge that things will be different from now.
"We'll still do this," he says, "when we're alone."
She nods, and lets him tie the knot.
She doesn't leave the house much, so she didn't need the blind, until today. She doesn't need it with him at all, he is the only one she can never kill, and he knows she would never fight him. She would fight all the others, she would bite their throats, she would strangle them with her cold, cold hands but not him. She learned to go quiet when he strokes her face, when he runs his fingers through her hair.
It isn't fear, not quite. It isn't love, not quite. But it is something. Something deeper than most can understand.
So she doesn't need the blind, not with him, but he likes to press his fingers over the sockets of her eyes, feel the blood that throbs there, feel how close they are when his touch is on her skin. They are always close, more close than close, but every little bit closer is good.
It isn't love. But it's something.
He likes to remind her, too, what she is. Angel of death, killer in a small body, girl with a gorgon gaze. He likes to remind her with the touch of his hands against her eyelids, he likes to stroke her soft lashes closed and lean to whisper in an ear, "You're a monster."
Your monster, he knows she thinks, but does not say.
She never says much.
He doesn't need to bind her eyes, or her mouth, not even her hands, but his fingers press her eyes anyway, the cloth holds her wrists close, his lips cover her mouth.
She shivers, but she doesn't move, only where he guides and pushes her. So quiet, he whispers into her mouth, and it's almost kind. So quiet, so quiet. She nods, just a little bit. So quiet. She's not good at most games, can't remember the rules, but she can play this one.
He knows that makes her happy, that small showing of skill. And he can let her have that, that small happiness.
~
But today is different.
Today, they're going outside, and he needs to blind her. It doesn't matter that she's not dangerous to him, he never forgets that she is dangerous, little sharp thing with eyes of hell. So it needs to begin. His hands on her eyes, his lips on her mouth, won't keep things safe any more.
But they can still make it intimate.
She's sitting mute, as always, curled up in a chair with her eyes closed. He presses the cloth into her hands.
What is it? she asks without words, her eyebrows rising, her head tilting a little to the right.
"Look at it," he says. So she does, she opens her eyes, and for a moment even he shivers, to see the dark wells that are swirling inside her head.
Even with her eyes open, she sees it with her fingers more, running her hands across the texture of the silk. It's pretty, she doesn't say, with a little sound like a bird.
He nods. "It's going to be yours," he says. "Close your eyes. We'll do it together."
She makes a sound of surprise, but she does what she's told, and he puts the needle between her fingers, gentle, gentle. He doesn't have to be gentle, but this is a particular moment, this is not the time to for violence. A mood hangs in the air, and he doesn't want to break it. He lets her take it, hold it, press the point to the fabric, and then his hands guide hers, through the stitching of the cranes, blood red on snow white silk.
The stitches are not even, and by the time they are finished, the blind is made more of her blood and tears than the white silk and red thread. But it's powerful that way, too, blessed with liquid of life and death. He takes the blind from her bleeding fingers, shaking slightly with the pain, and presses it to her eyes with his fingertips... a recent memory that becomes old now, suddenly, with the weight of their both knowledge that things will be different from now.
"We'll still do this," he says, "when we're alone."
She nods, and lets him tie the knot.
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For me, the personal point is exploring some things in my own past too, working them through the story in the characters... but, it's also to share ideas.
There are many different kinds of angel of death in the world, from one aspect you could say I identify as one too (I have worked in service of a death god, and I identify as a winged non-human person), so, I think, it's possible to explore multiple perspectives without meaning harm to anyone? （´・ω・｀）
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If you don't feel comfortable reading it, you definitely don't have to feel like you should. For me, this is something I need to explore and, I actually do have more that I want to post, but, I don't expect anyone to comment ot read if they are sensitive.
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*toddles off to read the rest*
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I have written more, and, I will be posting it today ^v^