Elements and Memory

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They fuck best after the battles are over, when the blood's still caked onto their skin and the adrenaline's still pumping through their veins. It's all in an effort to reassure each other that yeah, they're both alive, and it feels good to be.

When they first latch onto each other with greedy fingers and cruel lips, he's eighteen and she can't be more than fifteen. Neither of them are virgins.

She isn't kind, and he isn't noble, and neither of them have any control over their fate, or what they're doing, or how fast they breathe. They're two puppets, ruthlessly plumbing the depths of each other in an effort to stave off the inevitable.

When it's over, they sleep on opposite ends of the bed, more her choice than his, the sheets barely pulled over them. But her hand still reaches out and just barely brushes the ravaged and striped skin of his back, a feather-like touch, just to remind herself that he's still there.

The nerves there are long numb and dead, but he shivers sometimes when she does it.

Damia is dead and Syuveil is dead and Zieg fucks a black-hearted woman.

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