maw and bray - closed

[Illyana Putilina]

after slytherin party

Sheep sheep sheep. They bray and maw...moving in and out...herding where the bell tolled. She had been sitting here. Just here. For most of the day. Only bothering to shift her position whenever a limb went numb or her fingers broke through the skin of her lip...so she would pause, wait for the bleeding to stop, and renew again...no blood. Just swollen, red lips. Fidgety hands. Running like mice, up up up the white tower and never coming back down again. No. She wasn't a sheep. She was a mouse. Mouses went unseen...scurried unheard until the kitty. Kitty claws came to scratch at her, time to play...pushing her down the tower and into the dirt. Gray. Hard and gray.

Illiyana's small frame was jostled from it's starting at a younger student being berated by a professor by something warm colliding with her frame, large enough to topple her had there not been a wall behind her. Those busy busy hands splatting against the cold stone and skinning her palms but keeping her upright, her feet slowly uncurling from where she had been sitting on them to lengthen prettily down to the floor, crossing at the ankles like momma always said she ought. Only it wouldn't fit. Mice weren't pretty. She wasn't a white mouse. No, she was run ragged, and her knees pulled back up to her chest in her new spot, her tailbone growing cold from the unused potion of the bench, her feet crossing in front of her, bending in the way only a dancer of her stature could, her elbows tucked back into her chest, knees in front of them, hyper aware of the heat next to her. Kitty. Why did he see her? She wasn't for eyes.

“Будет. Stop hiding.” Her eyes widened. Speaking. She didn't know how to handle speaking but a small squeak registered in the back of her throat as her spine straightened. Her fingers didn't stop their fretting, plucking at the skin of her lips and shifting to tear at the lace of the very old dress she wore. Lace and petticoats. Not fitting of a girl. She didn't move her head but her eyes, they drifted over in his direction until her eyes were uncomfortable and he was...holding it back out to her. That smoke that had been the cause of their meeting. Her raw lips rubbed together, pressed painfully until she released them, her arms unfurling and extending to pluck it from his fingers without touching him and brought it to her lips instantly, pulling the smoke into her lungs and holding for only a second before exhaling, her eyes watering instantly with the desire to cough and fighting against her own natural instincts. Her free hand tightening around her knee where her stockings had bunched up awkwardly from being two sizes too big. Her unkempt hair nearly falling into her face, and exhaled fully.

“Nyet.” Displeased. The kitty didn't like her. She wasn't playing right. Didn't know the game. Didn't know how fast to run and the smoke was blinding her. Something dark was pulling at her gut and she felt guilty. Again. If she didn't play right she would be locked back in the tower, she would be alone and unnoticed. He was the only one who ever noticed her. Even if had only been the one time. Her eyes were frantic and she didn't have time to learn because he was moving and in front of her, her body slammed back against the wall out of reflex, waiting for whatever he was going to do because she hadn't done right. The space between them was so little and she might have squeaked again. His fingers were closed around her lips and her eyes could be downcast no more, she was trying not to drop the cigarette Her shoulders leaving the stone to arch toward him with a surprising amount of grace. Pushing into the thin skin and breaking and her eyes closed, near rolling into the back of her head for a long moment before opening again, she had no idea. The attention was such a rush, even if it wasn't how she was expecting it, he was looking at her...he was touching her. She had hardly ever had physical contact with another being other than her sister or a backhand from her mother and even that was more affectionate than most. She was leaning forward and then his hand dropped, her tongue running along the broken flesh just as it had been doing all day and he was back beside her whenever she stopped. “I said stop hiding girl.” “Da,” she whispered so softly it was hardly more than a movement of her lip. Her legs uncurling, her breath catching in her chest as she rotated her pelvis sideways, unsure of where trhis brazen woman had come from and let her feet rest in the open space between his legs, sideways. Still, her slender legs didn't touch him, she wasn't touching him at all, but she was closer to him than she had ever been to another person who wasn't him.

[Evan Rosier]

i love the sound of you walking away ,

MASCARA BLEEDS A BLACKENED TEAR !

Her lips were swollen, puffed up from the fingers she’d been using to pick at them for what he’d guess was the majority of the day. Fingers that had the sleeves pulled down until only the tips of them stuck out from the cuffing. Old women’s wear; the colors that even his grandmother wouldn’t be caught dressing in. Too neutral, in cut and color both. Buttoned so far up that it swallowed the cream complexion that he knew for a fact hid underneath it all. Like she had wrapped herself in virginity, cloaked so effectively so as to keep hungry gazes off of her. But she was desperate. Needy. A tenor beneath all of that so high in pitch that screamed so loud as to draw him to it. He could smell it on her, feel it in the air around her. People walked around her, sitting there on that bench, didn’t pause to look back at her- no one sat beside her, no one spared her a glance. And it had to eat up at her inside, that she could be overlooked so easily. Even if she kept her eyes downcast, she was watching- watching all of the people that walked past her and she was seeing them. Not the mere faces they put on for the mimicry that they felt necessary throughout the days, she was looking at them and he could see it on her face, in the way her lips quirked every now and then in something that might have turned to an ironic smile if it had been allowed to fully creep across her face, break the still flesh of her cheeks. So busy watching the bodies in front of her she didn’t see the one coming from the exit most of the bodies were streaming towards- so unused to attention that her gaze didn’t directly snap to his when he moved in front of the bench, folded himself carelessly down on top of it and used his thigh to usher her further down it- give him more room to spread his legs out before him, lean back against the stone wall it was set against. Not bothering to check and see if she righted herself before she fell- scraped up the long-sleeved shirt enough to see what could end up being the pretty, bruised flesh of her elbows. His hands were already searching, fingers dipping into his pants pocket to produce the rectangular pack that was ever present.


His fingers flipped back the lid of the cartridge, nimbly pulled one out to fit between his lips without glancing up at her once. But he could see her, there in the corner of his vision as she fell. Like a ragdoll- voiced no complaints. And he found that he liked that, liked the way she curled into herself and didn’t voice her opinion one way or another- like she was waiting. She knew her place better than most, certainly better than her age alone would suggest. “Будет. Stop hiding.” Gruff, he didn’t offer any pleasantries with it, didn’t try to soften the command with honeyed words or suggestion he wouldn’t mean. Starved, the way her body and mind spent that short amount of time in conflict as to how she was supposed to be. He’d liked her better fallen back as he’d put her- but that wouldn’t do. Eyes needed to skitter back across them, even if his figure was not so easily ignored as hers was. His fingers fell from the cigarette- lips puckering around it as the cherry caught fire- cheeks hollowing to pull the smoke into his lungs as he dipped back into the pack, pulled out a separate cylinder to flip through his digits as he deftly closed the pack back up, depositing it back in his jeans’ pocket before holding it out blindly to her.


His chest burned, a rarity, throat closing over the smoke trying to make its way back up until the muscles lining it began to contract, lips parting just enough to allow what little smoke was left to ghost out from between them- curling the air around them as he leant back, rolled his neck so that he could finally look over to her as she nearly sputtered her own smoke out. Blank faced. Because of course she would, and even if her spine had straightened she was still hiding, enough so that his eyebrows met, the only outward sign of emotion at all as he lifted his own cigarette back up to his lips, pulled it in until the butt pressed against his teeth- near violent inhale ending just as suddenly, fingers snatching it from his lips as he transitioned which one was holding it, looking over to her again with a small shake of his head. “Nyet.” Softly spoken though nothing about the word could be called that- hard, jagged edges that cut through the small space between them, his torso inclining and twisting suddenly until he was directly in front of her, his free hand snaking out between them lightening quick up to the lips she’d just pulled the cigarette from and- there, the edge of them his blunt fingernails could find purchase one, pull the soft, already swelled drag of the bottom curve from her mouth and out until warmth seeped up along his skin that was alien and yet the cause of her own body heat- fingers dropping just as suddenly as they had come, the crimson clinging to the tips dusting along the side of his pants leg as he moved more slowly back from her person, allowing his shoulders to once more fall against the stone behind them. “I said stop hiding girl.”

He didn’t hold his smoke for nearly so long this time, letting it pass roughly through his lips as he shifted his right foot out further than the other, knees splaying again as he relaxed back into his previous stance. Brought the fingers of his free hand up to scrub over his own lips, the residual stickiness on them bringing a curl to the corner of one side of his lips that only grew slightly more than faint at her breath of an answer. “Da.” Affirmation. He didn’t need it, but he’d take it with the half nod that he’d heard her as the only acknowledgement she’d receive at all. She should have already known. He didn’t wait, didn’t have time to draw her out. He had come to her this time and that should have been enough. Silence reigned for the few beats it took for her turn herself, for her too-thin legs to arch up over the thigh closest to her and this time the smirk that crossed his lips was fully formed, fully aware of the thought process that had to go behind placing it just so nothing but the hem of her dress dragged across the slacks covering his legs- at the placement of her feet that were turned just so to keep from sliding off of the stone bench. “хорошо.” Clipped, though it held none of the brusqueness of his earlier utterances, brining the cigarette back up to his lips as his free hand moved again, pushed between his torso and her legs so that he could grasp her ankles, curl his fingers around the both of them they were so slight and jerk, pulling her until her thigh was over his and her feet dangling just over the side of his other leg. Lips pursing as he pulled the paper back out of his mouth and turned his gaze on her finally- weighing, asserting.

 

BY MAX OF CAUTION 2.0, IMPERFECTIONS AND 

CREATING CHAOS.

[Illyana Putilina]

after slytherin party

“хорошо.” her head dropped instantly, the smile on her face hidden from sight. So that he wasn't seeing it directly. He might not like it. Men didn’t like seeing women smile. Her hair falling in front of her face and she had to keep it away, out of sight, until his hands closed around her ankles and the smile melted away, fear. Brief and flighty as he took hold of both of her bony ankles in one hand and lifted her legs, forcing them to lay over his own. Her dress riding up as he pulled her toward him more firmly, her hands shifting to adjust the dress the inch or so that it was moved as lifted her gaze to him. Hadn't ever. Apparently it was okay, had to be okay. To touch like this. No big deal. Her face should say that it was no big deal. Girls did this. If he wanted her to, then she would. His chin lifted to look at her, and she forced her upward despite her hammering heart, her toes pointed perfectly, not that he would feel much of a flex in her thin legs, pulling the cigarette back to her lips to match him in time. Following.

“You lied.” It was so much harder to pretend, whenever he was touching her. Even just resting his hand on her ankles in a gesture that he was sure he did with his friend, or friends did with other friends. Or things with people. Things people did. Don't be surprised. Don't act alarmed. Don't react. The smoke blowing from her lungs in a steady stream despite the still foreign burn that she couldn't shake. She wasn't a smoker on her own, after today, she would have to take it up. She wouldn't have a choice, if she was going to continue to smoke with him. Which, was something that she wanted. Wanted very much. Wanted to play. Could learn. She could learn. Her lips rubbed together and the smoke came out of her nose, making her nose crinkle and the back of her hand come up to rub the strange feeling away. She wasn't going to lie about lying. So she sat....and ashed the end of her cigarette like it was something that he knew how to do somehow, her toes shifting to cross over one another...

“You won’t lie to me again,” How was she supposed to play if she wasn't allowed to lie? Wasn't that what men wanted? Her to play the role. To be who he wanted and to play. Games. They always played games. That was what sissy had said, what momma had told her was what women ought to do. Be silent and meek, unless that wasn't what they wanted. Always be what the man wanted. Evan wasn't telling her anything and she couldn't not lie. “хорошая девочка.” But oh she did love it whenever he called her a good girl. She wanted to be a good girl. Could be good. Wouldn't be a lie if that's what she made of herself. Right? Yes. It had to be right. Wouldn't be a lie. She didn't move save her chest for the exhale and her toes pointed again, “если вы хотите его “

[Evan Rosier]

i love the sound of you walking away ,

MASCARA BLEEDS A BLACKENED TEAR !

She was trying so hard, shifting her bones in order to accommodate and he knew if he pulled a blade out from on his person and cut her from her navel up she would arch out of the way to allow him to do so. Power; rampant and raw. It was fitting, that she yield it to him, given who she was and who her relations were. Given that he had decided the course of action he had for her. His fingers brushed over the bones in her ankles, dipped into the contours that they provided beneath her skin and let the smoke slowly out of his lungs, and monitored the length taken to ghost out of his lips for her benefit- watching her as she copied him. So eager to keep him from leaving where it was he was sitting now, from turning his gaze away from her again. He would be of course- but she’d done well enough so far to benefit from it. So he rolled his shoulders back, looked away from her only long enough to see the courtyard emptying, though there were still plenty given the time of day parked at random intervals to visit with their friends. Joel would be by soon enough himself, after he collected from the score he’d made the night before, sold off the product. He could wait here that long. His fingers smoothed out, lengthened to curl loosely over the tops of where ankle met calf- resting there as he locked gazes with her once more. “You lied.” Bland, without accusation as he let the words fall into the silence. It was pointless, pointing it out- he’d known at the time she’d given him her age that she’d been lying, had already figured as much, but they’d let it slip past them then. Fade into the background. Like she was so accustomed to doing herself.

What he was sure was supposed to be her lack of reaction had him nodding, short- watching her discard the extra ash from the tip of her cigarette and curling his fingers so that he could tap it against the outside edge of her shoes, watch the gray float down away from it before lifting the entire thing back to his lips. “Da.” As if he were answering some unspoken question between the two of them as he inhaled again, eyes going from her cigarette to her lips only briefly as if questioning what it was she was waiting for. Dropped, just as easily as he’d brought it back up. “You won’t lie to me again,” almost pleasant as he pulled the cigarette back from his lips, no smoke drifting from his lips as he tamped back down what on reaction attempted to escape his throat. Working muscles or something. “хорошая девочка.”

He pulled the butt of the cigarette out of his lips slowly, letting the smoke curl its way down his throat and into his system as he watched her through partially hooded eyes. She had been an unexpected find- wandering up to him trailing the skirts of the freak she shared both bloodline and name with. Bat shit crazy. The both of them. Although the ways that it presented itself in each of them was so veritably different as to be easily mistaken. The eldest had her uses, had been around long enough as to have become a fixture of sorts. This though, her younger sister, contained more. More full. More possibility. More worthwhile. “если вы хотите его “ His lips curling slowly up on his face, predatory smirk shifting over his lips as the smoke fell out from between the sinister line between the two of them. His approval was silent this time, storm-gray of his eyes shifting, gleaming as his hand settled more fully upon her flesh- the line of her tights pressing into his palm as he lifted the cigarette for one last drag. Long, slow, and bitter he pulled until the cherry at the end sparked in an effort to keep alight, his lips releasing their hold even as his thumb moved to flick the remainder out away from his body and to the ground, not bothering to push it into the stone beneath. It wouldn’t be catching fire any time soon, even had there been fuel for which it could catch off, it was depleted.

 

BY MAX OF CAUTION 2.0, IMPERFECTIONS AND 

CREATING CHAOS.

[Illyana Putilina]

Touch. What a strange thing. Adri had always said that touch was bad. Never in so many words, of course, but touch was supposed to be bad. To be avoided other than sparingly. Preserved. No. Touch. Touching. Touch. Fingers on skin and skin on ankles. She was skinny enough that he might as well be grabbing her bones. Tethered by bones. She rather liked that idea. She shouldn't be staring. Mother said that wasn't the way. Wouldn't do to make eye contact but she had aleady broken that rule before. Seemed that he had wanted her to but only on his terms. Always on his terms, as it should have been. Was supposed to be done as they saw fit. Meek and mild. Soft spoken and seen. Never heard, was supposed to be that way. Didn't notice that the courtyard was emptying, but she should have. Should have known that it wasn't fitting to be alone with a boy, but that was exactly what she wanted...only he wasn't looking at her. Was this an invitation? She felt like It was. To stare at his bone structure, to watch and absorb, like she could somehow pull bits of his flesh, the molding that made his face int herself. Somehow. Fingers moving up her skin to her calf, the lack of muscle and delicately sloped bones. Dancers bones. Near hollow bones. Didn't have the muscles that Adri did, never managed to get as good as her sister. She was always the black swan. Always. “You lied.” Chapped lips pulled a little more tightly over her normally gaunt face, eyes lifting to watch the passive way he spoke, like she should have known better. Chastising her for being the child that he had just known that she was and it made her angry. Nothing that crossed her face. Nothing but her staring, unblinking, into his face. The way that she smirked at her following comments and words, sent a thrill through her, the way that she always thought it would feel like to ride those roller coasters that she had seen in passing. Moving past those theme parks and the screams that left the air tainted and smelled oddly sour and sweet at the same time. They said it was like your stomach bottoming out while you heart lept into your throat, something like that. She would have thought. Candy floss and bottoming hearts.

She couldn't even tense the muscles that he was touching on her leg. Couldn't think to do anything about it but she felt like it was approval. Him, touching her while she didn't touch him. Floated, hovering hovering hovering over his person. The fire from his lips brought the last of the smoke home into his lungs, inviting as it moved in, setting up camp in his pores and sticking to his hair. Lingering, just a part of his smell. One of many. Like he could be made up of a tower of smoke and strange smells. Each one pungent to her person but she couldn't change it. Her brown eyes unfocusing by force befoe his face was permentantly etched into her retinas. Until he was all that she could see and she scoffed, flippant as her head finally turned, looking out into the currently empty courtyard...the sound of faint off voices heading this direction, and with an artful twist of her legs she shifted, fluidly centering her body only an inch from being on his lap, floating and them moving back across the bench. A spider, just coming to visit before removing herself from the bench, slowly, very slowly walking backward. Un-dismissed.

[Evan Rosier]

i love the sound of you walking away ,

MASCARA BLEEDS A BLACKENED TEAR !

He didn’t have to have his head turned towards her, eyes trained on her features in so obvious a manner to read the play of expression that she allowed thinking herself safe to do so. Interesting for one so skittish, relaxing in any capacity, but then she’d been flipping back and forth between what was expected and doing something entirely outside of that realm since the night he’d met her. Her eyes were almost hungry in the way they seemed to trail his features, shifting over and over again each minute raise beneath his skin and had he been anyone else he was sure the attention would have provided some sort of discomfort. Had used the technique himself on more than one occasion to stopper the flow of chatter flowing incessantly out of ill-formed lips. She wasn’t trained though, no matter what she might consider herself. Hid like a specter in the shadows and allowed herself to be displaced. By a design not actually ingrained within her. Obviously. There was no flinching back from the hand on her leg, or long torrent of words tinged with such heavy accent as to actually give him pause in translating. Wasn’t even the smallest physical reaction to the palm heavy on her own person. It was there though. Cloying up the air between them. Filling her. He could feel it beneath her skin. Feel the way the action settled into her and shifted the dynamic of their sitting there with one another. Feel the way her mind moved ahead of the rest of her, came to whatever conclusion it was she must have decided on as she turned her head and his smile was just as rapacious as it was slow in coming. Such a creature, hidden behind other skirts and cloaked in a self imposed silence- and she had been kept from him for five years. Might have kept buried had it not been for a combining of fortuitous circumstance and subtle promotion. Lines placed delicately along her path followed shortly thereafter by the slightest of somatic substantiation. His thumb curled, pad brushing down the bunched line of the fabric it was resting over, stitching pressing into his flesh with the downward arch executed, only waiting for her gaze to shift away from his features for the smoke to curl one finale time out of his lips- barely vapor in the air as it ghosted from his chest. She was centered towards him, intentionally or not, her bones aligned in a way as to put her directly in his path- but other than the faintest shift of his lips he made no comment, chin notching down towards her with the shifting of her form.

Eyebrows shifting down at her doing so. He hadn’t, in any respect, given leave for her to.

Although her next move was even more surprising- furled eyebrows smoothing out slowly to lift marginally upon his forehead. Ah. The кобылка wanted to play- on metaphorically shaky legs as she moved up off of him and the bench upon which they’d both been seated, her form backing slowly from his own and his face shifted downwards, eyes rolling to look up at her from beneath his lashes as his left foot moved, leg straightened in order for the expertly polished shoe to land over the butt he’d dropped earlier- toe pressing it into the stone beneath with a very deliberate turn, his eyes never breaking from her own. She had begun this. Another interesting development that he hadn’t anticipated. Made the first move in the game they were now playing without any prompting. He was fully prepared to leave her with the warning he’d delivered alone before the next time he approached her. One thing at a time. For now. All things had their time and while he wasn’t nearly as practiced in some matters as others- he was so very adept at planning things to his advantage. “Da.” Again, the soft utterance of the word though no question or even statement had been spoken- steel eyes holding hers as his hands came to either side of the bench, palms pushing into the stone as leverage for his body to uncurl from how it had relaxed, straightening in a fluid motion that displaced the wrinkles in fabric that had gathered as he’d been sitting there- Settled then. Between the both of them- his face impassive as he made to move as if he were leaving the courtyard, coming abreast and to the side of her in all of three long strides, pausing just to the left of her before he bent- his torso bowing so that the edge of his chin brushed against her bottom lobe. “Tell me devushka, did you think Baba Yaga to be forgiving? Or Koschei kind?” His lips never touched the shell of her ear, didn’t press into the skin there though it rested- passing scant breaths away from it instead, puffs of air that came of his words passing instead to pebble the flesh to his eyes.

“Or did you,” he continued, his torso leaning in just the slightest bit more until there was not left but a centimeter or two between their bodies, “imagine yourself to be fashioned after the dear Ilya of your children’s tales?” Just as soft and even as the rest of his words had been before, though the scoff therein beneath was all too clear. Just as abruptly as he’d stepped to her he straightened, spine lengthening as he looked down the bridge of his nose at her, features set in an expressionless mask. “Yeto maloebuchi factor.” Scornful this time as he shook his head. “Your mother should have taught you going against Veles was an unwise decision.” The smallest shift of his lips in appreciation as his arm lifted between them, fingers curling around the point of her chin and dragging her gaze up to square more centrally on his own. “кверху Illyana.” Pads of his fingers rubbing against her skin as he pulled his hand back into his own sphere, quirking his brows as his arm fell back to his side. “вы посмотрите на меня.” Short nod of his head before he turned from her completely, hands moving to his pockets as he exited through the nearest arch they had been paused outside of- not bothering to look over his shoulder at the dark waif left behind in his wake. She was already waking up- fog cleared- and he was invested in the process.

 

BY MAX OF CAUTION 2.0, IMPERFECTIONS AND 

CREATING CHAOS.

[Illyana Putilina]

He could have stopped her. He could have, if he had wanted to. If he had wanted to give her a reason to stay, because she would have been dismissed shortly anyway. Dismissed. Though, she'd finally made the choice to turn herself to leave, thought that it was going to be it. Thought that this was going to be all there was for this meeting, she was already under the assumption that there would be more. This didn't feel finished, nowhere near finished. She hoped that this wasn't over. Whatever this was. It wasn't even a thing. Not really. Wouldn't have known a thing. Thing. Thing. Footsteps coming up behind her, and she stopped walking. He was so close – always inserting himself so close to her, on purpose. Stealing her air and words along with it. He smelled, like saffron and cinnamon... “Tell me devushka, did you think Baba Yaga to be forgiving? Or Koschei kind?” Both were names that she was very, very familiar with, and that had to of been why he had chosen them. So that the little message he was trying to make was going to get across, and she understood, as he knew that she would. Goosebumps were starting to travel all the way up her arms, though they were covered and she wasn't cold. Down her spine and around her ribs, hot breath against her ear and her eyes never wavered, open, staring at some unspecific point on the horizon. He hadn't meant for her to speak, he didn't pause nearly long enough. “Or did you,” She wanted to speak, wanted to say something, anything even if it was just the recipe for those cinnamon cookies that mother used to have ordered all the time, because he smelled like them and she kept thinking about her kitchen.“imagine yourself to be fashioned after the dear Ilya of your children’s tales?” A hero? She was far from it. He had to know that he was the only one who really payed her any attention whatsoever. She wasn't dashing or important, she wasn't pretty or elegant. She wasn't poised or very good at, anything but she did want to be, mother would brush her hair and always tell her that she just hadn't found it yet...or she used to, before Adri took over, and Illyana's hair had fallen into perpetual tangles.

“Yeto maloebuchi factor.” It was unimportant. He meant, how she saw herself was unimportant. The 'why' was more unclear. She wasn't particularly smart or clever, never was all that great at puzzles, but she wanted to be. Wanted to understand what he was saying, to be smart like him, to be skilled in the way that he is skilled. Disdain colored his tongue and he didn't stop talking. Weirdly, the disdain was comfortable, she was used to being talked down to, but her at ease in a way that no flowery word would have ever been possible. “Your mother should have taught you going against Veles was an unwise decision.” Her lips twisted into a smile, a god? He thought that he was a god? His mythology was all over the place and she would know, she had a sister that danced under starlight like the constellations were her personal friends, touched by them...they both were, Adri would say whenever Illy had been a child. Her chin lifted by his gaze and she couldn't wipe the smirk away, couldn't help herself. “кверху Illyana.” That was her name. She hadn't remembered telling him her name. Her eyes lifted to his face as commanded. His hands were oddly smooth, tempered and almost gentle in his hold. Gentle to her. “вы посмотрите на меня.” She was, her eyes focusing even more firmly on his, narrowing as her pupils locked onto his. He was done with her, this was his goodbye, and even as he released his grip and stepped backward the smirk remained in place. He was leaving. She hugged her arms around herself, talking into the wind. “Nyet, but you are not deathless, and I am not wicked.”