( a sharp intake of breath that catches in his chest. mind racing, thinking of the last time he had seen her — curled over him, her knife buried deep in his chest — and then he's pushing air into his lungs, forcing his muscles to unlock.
his features settling into something flat, impassive. )
The demons. ( there's a curl of something tucked beneath the surface, a sneer of disdain that is directed as much at the word as it is the people that would use it. )
no subject
his features settling into something flat, impassive. )
The demons. ( there's a curl of something tucked beneath the surface, a sneer of disdain that is directed as much at the word as it is the people that would use it. )
I doubt they would welcome me in their number.