10-16-2020, 07:08 PM
She laughed, low and scathing, while she rolled the glass in her fingers.
The last time she’d seen Nox, he’d been standing between her and the Ascendancy’s bullets. The memories crunched like broken glass in her mind, inviting the skittering feel of the ijiraq’s orders in her mind, a drone that: Never. Fucking. Stopped. Nails on chalkboard; an oath was made. The pressure was unbearable, tearing up impotent rage in her chest despite the haze of intoxication she was using to keep it caged. She downed the last swallow of her drink.
It was the scorn. The fucking scorn. Nox’s smile was dismissive. He urged Rafael up the stairs.
He would walk away, just like Brandon did.
Like they always fucking did.
Ori pulled the power in, knowing he would feel the shiver of it. She closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and for one bizarre moment she wondered if pain would break the chain. Just squeeze the glass in her fist until it burst like fire, and rivers of red ran down her wrist. But she’d done enough bleeding lately; she knew it would not work.
After all, a fucking oath was made.
Meanwhile Rafael’s eyes were wide and wary. He half moved with Nox’s nudge, only to pause himself. “What did you do with Kasun?” he ventured. The words were mangled and low from the scar at his throat; an injury inflicted by the very first person he thought to ask about.
Ori ignored him.
Her eyes were a storm, but this time she was the wreckage. “The pain every time one of them died. She felt it. I felt it. And fuck, Nox, she wants vengeance and she wants it bad.” She leaned forward; swapped the empty glass for the bottle in her grip. “Do you want to know what it feels like? Because she wants you to feel it.” Her eyes moved for a moment to Rafael. Beautiful, innocent Rafael. Then she gestured to the chair across the table. Took another burning swallow.
“We need to talk. Sit down.”
The last time she’d seen Nox, he’d been standing between her and the Ascendancy’s bullets. The memories crunched like broken glass in her mind, inviting the skittering feel of the ijiraq’s orders in her mind, a drone that: Never. Fucking. Stopped. Nails on chalkboard; an oath was made. The pressure was unbearable, tearing up impotent rage in her chest despite the haze of intoxication she was using to keep it caged. She downed the last swallow of her drink.
It was the scorn. The fucking scorn. Nox’s smile was dismissive. He urged Rafael up the stairs.
He would walk away, just like Brandon did.
Like they always fucking did.
Ori pulled the power in, knowing he would feel the shiver of it. She closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and for one bizarre moment she wondered if pain would break the chain. Just squeeze the glass in her fist until it burst like fire, and rivers of red ran down her wrist. But she’d done enough bleeding lately; she knew it would not work.
After all, a fucking oath was made.
Meanwhile Rafael’s eyes were wide and wary. He half moved with Nox’s nudge, only to pause himself. “What did you do with Kasun?” he ventured. The words were mangled and low from the scar at his throat; an injury inflicted by the very first person he thought to ask about.
Ori ignored him.
Her eyes were a storm, but this time she was the wreckage. “The pain every time one of them died. She felt it. I felt it. And fuck, Nox, she wants vengeance and she wants it bad.” She leaned forward; swapped the empty glass for the bottle in her grip. “Do you want to know what it feels like? Because she wants you to feel it.” Her eyes moved for a moment to Rafael. Beautiful, innocent Rafael. Then she gestured to the chair across the table. Took another burning swallow.
“We need to talk. Sit down.”
![[Image: orianderis.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/orianderis.jpg)