“Thal’sae veyrûn,” I murmur, voice shaking. (Let the forest reclaim what was stolen.)
I lower my forehead to her chest, claws still bloodied, the sigil pulses once beneath my cheek.
“Etravi’sûn veskae lûn.”(I will break the world if it keeps you from me.)
I press a kiss to her forehead, then her pulse, before curling myself around her.
“I would split the night open, Lumi, if I thought it would let your name pour back out.” The fire snaps as shadows dance around the wooden floor. Wind groans against the cabin walls.
Let the gods watch.
Let them damn me.
But let her live.
Anonymous
Look at him. Bleeding. Shaking. Begging.
It’s a sick little thrill watching the forest’s golden boy crumple. Watching him realize—again—how easily I can step in and snatch away the only thing that keeps his humanity.
He cradles her like a fallen star, pleading for her to wake—sobbing prayers into the midnight air.
“I should have protected you. If the gods are watching, they can take me instead…”
What a fucking waste.She isn’t yours to bargain with, snow-prick. Your “mate”doesn’t even know how to take care of you, little dove.
And before all of this, the night your knees were slick with your sister’s blood—where was he?
Nowhere.I was.Don’t you get it yet? I’m not jealous of him. It’s something much, much different.
I’m the version of him that showed up when you shattered. The one who’s been patient enough to watch you for yearswithout forcing myself on you. Memorizing your patterns, your fears, your softness.
I follow at a distance. He’s fucking fast, I’ll give him that, but I know where he’s taking her.
He’s so distraught he doesn’t even notice the shadow trailing him.
When he bursts through the cabin door, I stay just beyond the tree line until the door slams behind them. I find my favorite spot next to the north-facing window, where I can see them best.
He peels off the furs he wrapped her in, so gently it makes my teeth ache. He whispers things into her skin that I can’t quite make out—I’ll have to fix that.
I swing my backpack around and unzip the matte black casing of the contact mic I bought days ago. Small enough to vanish against the wood. It’ll catch their voices through the windowpane like a spider sensing motion on its web. Their body heat will make it tricky, but I’ve calibrated for that. A vibration sensor turned to low-frequency resonance. I’ll hear everything:
Every lie he tells her.
Every shuttered breath.
“I’ve got you. You’re safe,Kaemorin.” I watch him mouth.
Exceptshe’s not, Andrik. Not when she’s with you. A sad excuse for a “guardian,” if I’ve ever seen one.
I shift slightly in the snow, and my fingers press lightly to the frost-laced window— just enough that it fogs.
It’s intimate, this moment, like observing two caged animals who have no idea the world’s watching.
I stand silently. The mic hums faintly against the glass. Every tremor carries through the pane into my headset—a soft thrum of guilt and desperation.
Not all of it is clear yet, their body heat muddies the signal—but I catch the fragments that matter.
