The lust he felt was a flame, its intensity tempered only by the satisfaction derived from the ease with which he could exert control over even one such as she, bound by the constraints of the skin she wore. It manifested as a sinister satisfaction, a silent acknowledgment of the power that came with the guise of humanity. Confidence surged within him, elevating his posture, and though they stood nearly equal in height, he rose like a tower.
"Dahlia," he repeated the word like a toy in his mouth. It took on a different shape and sound when uttered through his lips, as if by holding it on his tongue as if it were an aged whiskey, he could make it burn and shine in the same way.
"Dorian,I think" he replied, the name a deliberate choice, draped in a calculated immediacy that hinted at meticulous forethought. Deliberately he provided no justification for his choice, as Dahlia had, but that of course was in line with the nature of their distinct skillsets. For Dahlia, the name held meaning, a red carpet upon which she could shine at her leisure, fueled by whispers and desires. But for Dorian, the enigma of his person would stretch out like an invitation. Assumptions and poorly reasoned judgments would weave a tapestry of speculation around him. The calculated nature of his responses and the deliberate withholding of explanations were tools for crafting such a persona. Tools not even she - Dahali - was spared.
"Your hands are filthy." He said suddenly, harshly, shifting his chin away from her.
"Dahlia," he repeated the word like a toy in his mouth. It took on a different shape and sound when uttered through his lips, as if by holding it on his tongue as if it were an aged whiskey, he could make it burn and shine in the same way.
"Dorian,I think" he replied, the name a deliberate choice, draped in a calculated immediacy that hinted at meticulous forethought. Deliberately he provided no justification for his choice, as Dahlia had, but that of course was in line with the nature of their distinct skillsets. For Dahlia, the name held meaning, a red carpet upon which she could shine at her leisure, fueled by whispers and desires. But for Dorian, the enigma of his person would stretch out like an invitation. Assumptions and poorly reasoned judgments would weave a tapestry of speculation around him. The calculated nature of his responses and the deliberate withholding of explanations were tools for crafting such a persona. Tools not even she - Dahali - was spared.
"Your hands are filthy." He said suddenly, harshly, shifting his chin away from her.
The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate
But we had names more intimate
