Broken glass. Broken furniture. The stone walls were full of holes. His attendants had run in fear. He stood alone in the wreckage, his hands threatening to tear out great clumps of that dark hair of his.
He had seen. It wouldn't have been as bad if it had been during the day. Then he could have turned away, pretended not to see. But it had been on their time. How could he deny it now? How could he pretend that there was nothing there? He'd watched his wife silently slip farther and farther away from him, and though their time together was still full of passion and desire, there was something else she wanted.
There had to be. Otherwise, why did she flirt with this upstart of a titan? She'd never needed to flirt with him; she'd learned it elsewhere, and it was not hard to discover from where
( ... )
The rage that he had managed to tamp down roared up again. He shook with it. Clenching his jaw so that his godsdamned mouth wouldn't open, he waited for it to pass, hoped that it would pass.
It did.
No, it did not. It became more manageable as the time crept on. As the silence crept on. Mortal tombs had more sound in it than their sitting room now.
Finally, he exhaled.
"Tell me," he said flatly.
Tell me why you are so attracted to a god who is not your husband. Tell me why you insist on this silly flirtation. Tell me why I'm not good enough for you, tell me why I am not enough of anything for you. Tell me why your heart is leading you away from me. Tell me what I have done to drive you from my side. Tell me why our intimate moments are so full of fire, but you are not satisfied. Tell me everything.
He did not expect that anything that came out of her mouth could ever answer these things. But he had to ask. He had to know.
Her fingers had slipped down from her hair to her chiton. There, they gripped the soft, thin material ruthlessly as her eyes closed.
"Tell me," he demanded.
"Spare nothing," he specified.
Tell him... tell him what? This was not his burden to bear, it was never meant to have been his to bear... but she had been weak, and she had been stupid, and she had played with fire.
And now they both burned.
"I. You know," she whispered. "You know what happened. It was... it was harmless... the... the flirting. It."
She turned her head left. Anywhere but at him - she would look anywhere but at him.
"It... they were only words... looks, laughing. Talking. I."
It was unlike Nyx to be so ineloquent. Words came easily to her; she usually had no trouble articulating her feelings. But she felt that every syllable she spoke had to be dragged out violently, like fish hooks in her throat.
She could feel the pain coming from him in waves. Her Ere...
Comments 9
Broken glass. Broken furniture. The stone walls were full of holes. His attendants had run in fear. He stood alone in the wreckage, his hands threatening to tear out great clumps of that dark hair of his.
He had seen. It wouldn't have been as bad if it had been during the day. Then he could have turned away, pretended not to see. But it had been on their time. How could he deny it now? How could he pretend that there was nothing there? He'd watched his wife silently slip farther and farther away from him, and though their time together was still full of passion and desire, there was something else she wanted.
There had to be. Otherwise, why did she flirt with this upstart of a titan? She'd never needed to flirt with him; she'd learned it elsewhere, and it was not hard to discover from where ( ... )
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That was all.
The rage that he had managed to tamp down roared up again. He shook with it. Clenching his jaw so that his godsdamned mouth wouldn't open, he waited for it to pass, hoped that it would pass.
It did.
No, it did not. It became more manageable as the time crept on. As the silence crept on. Mortal tombs had more sound in it than their sitting room now.
Finally, he exhaled.
"Tell me," he said flatly.
Tell me why you are so attracted to a god who is not your husband. Tell me why you insist on this silly flirtation. Tell me why I'm not good enough for you, tell me why I am not enough of anything for you. Tell me why your heart is leading you away from me. Tell me what I have done to drive you from my side. Tell me why our intimate moments are so full of fire, but you are not satisfied. Tell me everything.
He did not expect that anything that came out of her mouth could ever answer these things. But he had to ask. He had to know.
"Tell me," he repeated. "Spare nothing."
Spare me this hurt. I do ( ... )
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"Tell me," he demanded.
"Spare nothing," he specified.
Tell him... tell him what? This was not his burden to bear, it was never meant to have been his to bear... but she had been weak, and she had been stupid, and she had played with fire.
And now they both burned.
"I. You know," she whispered. "You know what happened. It was... it was harmless... the... the flirting. It."
She turned her head left. Anywhere but at him - she would look anywhere but at him.
"It... they were only words... looks, laughing. Talking. I."
It was unlike Nyx to be so ineloquent. Words came easily to her; she usually had no trouble articulating her feelings. But she felt that every syllable she spoke had to be dragged out violently, like fish hooks in her throat.
She could feel the pain coming from him in waves. Her Ere...
"It was never meant to hurt you."
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