( it does matter to her. despite her instincts, it matters to her if she hurts anyone. it is an instinct he has detached from himself long ago, but he watches her compassion with a soft, intent curiosity; with a familiarity long forsaken. (he wonders how, he wonders why, for the first time with an interest he hadn't considered before—)
her hunger, however. her hunger charges the air, in ways that creep up the back of his throat. the tendrils of red that stain the white of her pupils reflect against the dull lighting. he catches the sight of her fangs before they sink into the man's wrist. she is careful. she is very careful, her control under a very stubborn thumb, but her lust echoes and thrums.
he watches. he watches because he wants to do so and because he cannot look away from the blending of her conscience and the monster under her skin both. )
no subject
her hunger, however. her hunger charges the air, in ways that creep up the back of his throat. the tendrils of red that stain the white of her pupils reflect against the dull lighting. he catches the sight of her fangs before they sink into the man's wrist. she is careful. she is very careful, her control under a very stubborn thumb, but her lust echoes and thrums.
he watches. he watches because he wants to do so and because he cannot look away from the blending of her conscience and the monster under her skin both. )