remarks | (no subject)

[ She doesn't like talking. (He might take my tongue. Her tongue, her teeth or something worse; something like lungs, something she needs in order to survive.) She doesn't like looking people in the eyes. (He might be reminded how they're green at the center and amber at the edges and isn't that special.)

The stranger asks and Sedona looks away awkwardly, rubbing her forearm with her hand. (Don't look at me, don't look at me, don't look at me—)

She shrugs. ]

[ He taps two fingers to his chin, the curve to his mouth quiet (whatever it is, it's okay). Jakob's seen girls like her before (loved, too; no, loves) and maybe she doesn't look at him but it doesn't take a genius to figure it out, the weight of something pressing down hard enough to crack. If Jakob's honest with himself — and he tries to be, almost every day — it makes him sad. Maybe for the wrong reasons, but still sad. ]

Yeah, [ he says eventually, his smile kind. ] I have those days too.

[ He sees the man smile at her in his sad way and it makes her worry (no, it makes her panic). No one is allowed to look at her, save the Dukes, and no one is allowed to smile at her save Titian. (If he knows, he'll take your eyes, he'll pull out your teeth, he'll peel the skin off my face and put on the wall like a butterfly, like blood spatter and—) Sedona ducks her chin lower, lifts her shoulders higher, and then shakes her head with a shiver of her blue-black hair, pressing a hand through the air towards him. ]

You shouldn't—

[ —look at me. —speak to me. —be kind.

(No, I take it back. Be kind.) ]

[ Jakob's brows draw together, the concern mild on his features but blooming wide in his chest. She's young, he thinks. (Or maybe he's just old; the way he sees it, everyone's just a kid.) She doesn't deserve it but it's never about deserving, these things. It's about monsters and dragons and princesses and knights and Jakob, well, he knows a little about those. ]

Neither should they. [ He's gentle when he says it but his meaning is plain enough, shaped in the worried crease of his brows and the crook of his mouth. ]

Just— a personal opinion.

[ —but they do, she wants to say. They shouldn't, should they; they should be decent; they should exercise the gross amount of power they have with dignity and grace and not blood horror. They shouldn't but they do, and it takes a moment for Sedona to realize that's the stranger's point; that maybe he shouldn't either, but he will, and that makes her wonder if he's brave or good or just out of his fucking mind.

(You don't cross the Dukes. They're too powerful and too goddamn insane and maybe, just maybe, Red's got a shred of kindness in him, but it never made its way on to his children. They're terrible, the lot of them, except for Claret, the poor thing, and it doesn't matter who this guy is because if the Dukes find out that he shouldn't but does anyway, Sedona can't promise him help. No, she can't promise a single fucking thing.) ]

You're— you're crazy, [ she says in a way that sounds like no offense, and while her gaze skirts his shoulders and chin, her mouth twitches out of habit, like she wants to smile in a rueful way but she won't allow herself to. ]