The pleading whine in Gideon's voice is humiliating, the helplessness in her eyes a rebuke. They're things her own weakness have opened the door to, all those momentary touches and midnight crawls into Gideon's bed, the wounded-animal comfort she's sought that's softened her beyond repair. Both of them have forgotten themselves, forgotten their place and their history, regressed further than they should thanks to the ancient ways of this foreign city. If Crux were here, if her parents were alive and well, if...too many things, the best they could hope for is a swift correction to set them back on their intended courses.
It has to end, but all Harrow can think of is the flush on Gideon's cheeks and the helpless way she says I need you. A knife twists in her gut, in her chest, lances of pain and disgust that tighten her jaw and stiffen her spine. Slowly, she moves forward in the tub; slowly, she reaches for the plug, lifting it to let the water drain.
"Leave your underwear on. You don't need to get the salt."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2021-07-31 04:57 pm (UTC)It has to end, but all Harrow can think of is the flush on Gideon's cheeks and the helpless way she says I need you. A knife twists in her gut, in her chest, lances of pain and disgust that tighten her jaw and stiffen her spine. Slowly, she moves forward in the tub; slowly, she reaches for the plug, lifting it to let the water drain.
"Leave your underwear on. You don't need to get the salt."