[ the slanted turn of his mouth lacks the sharpness she had expected, as though every piece of him should catch the light and glint with menacing delight. what else could kaz brekker be, if not a crooked arrangement of cracked glass? her gaze sweeps his lips, searching the upturned corners for a bladed edge, and finds — a strange brightness. far too mortal for creatures of the night. far too human. a sight that's as disarming as the removal of his hat, plucking away the bastard of the barrel's convenient armor. but she knows better, all the same, to think he's unguarded in front of her. vulnerable, beyond the proposal she might reject.
like pulling a rabbit from a hat, she waits for the trick to reveal itself, certain she's not the only one guilty of dabbling in parlor tricks. aleksander had tried the same, parading as a man to appeal to her. a monster, hiding in softer skin. hiding in plain sight, in fact. alina's guard doesn't lower, though her fingertips have a mind of her own. in a mirrored show of faith, she tips her face away from the too-insightful card and toward the speckled vanity. a crunch of her nose pinches her expression into a grimace as she carelessly plucks away crystal beads from the dark lattice of her eyelashes, like dewdrops caught on dark petals. a decoration too showy for her liking, like a remnant of the little palace has followed her here, trussed her up into its pampered porcelain doll. ]
I'm not much for being owned. [ isn't she, still? owned by her power. owned by the darkling, in some manner — the fear that has kept her chained to an opulent operahouse. she strangles that dark whisper in the back of her mind, how it seems to command the collar around her throat to cinch tighter in its reminder. from the corner of her eyes, she charts the bare skin of her own wrist, the implication in his gaze as it bores into her — seeming to stain her in ink, with just the tattooing imprint of his unabashedly curious stare. ] Not on anyone's terms but my own.
[ a fair warning. her own terms set on the table as all decrees are. the problem is this: she had never known her worth before. but now she knows her value — knows her only worth is how she can be used, wielded, a tool for another's ambitions. nothing less, nothing more — but it's a bargaining chip, all the same.
a snort puffs out of her, abandoning the last glimmering rhinestone haphazardly in a trinket box. ]
Am I speaking to a so-called demon, or was I mistaken? If I wasn't brave, I would have banished you the moment you popped into my room like a ghost. Your interest in me is enough to draw the wrong attention.
[ perhaps it's even braver to stare that demon in eyes and tip her chin, unflinching, unfazed by jagged teeth and haunting eyes, as she delivers that challenge. or perhaps it's just a wish for her to be put out of her misery, jaws clamped around her throat, when she drags alongside every step she takes — peering over her shoulder and greeting a brand new day's dread and guilt.
after another considering moment, pinning his gaze to hers: ] Was there more? I thought that speech was your proposal.
[ rueful, her lips curl, a portrait of faint sarcasm at both of their expenses. it's not a true answer, not really; she shoves away from the vanity, coming to a sudden stand. ]
I'll hear it. [ despite that, she's already sauntered away meaningfully, dipping behind a dressing partition, stark white and smelted in cheap gold. a breeze of dark hair flutters behind her when she pokes her head around, clarifying, ] You talk, I'll get changed before this stupid outfit pulverizes my ribs into dust.
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surprise bet you thought you saw the last of me LIKE HALF A YEAR LATER...
like pulling a rabbit from a hat, she waits for the trick to reveal itself, certain she's not the only one guilty of dabbling in parlor tricks. aleksander had tried the same, parading as a man to appeal to her. a monster, hiding in softer skin. hiding in plain sight, in fact. alina's guard doesn't lower, though her fingertips have a mind of her own. in a mirrored show of faith, she tips her face away from the too-insightful card and toward the speckled vanity. a crunch of her nose pinches her expression into a grimace as she carelessly plucks away crystal beads from the dark lattice of her eyelashes, like dewdrops caught on dark petals. a decoration too showy for her liking, like a remnant of the little palace has followed her here, trussed her up into its pampered porcelain doll. ]
I'm not much for being owned. [ isn't she, still? owned by her power. owned by the darkling, in some manner — the fear that has kept her chained to an opulent operahouse. she strangles that dark whisper in the back of her mind, how it seems to command the collar around her throat to cinch tighter in its reminder. from the corner of her eyes, she charts the bare skin of her own wrist, the implication in his gaze as it bores into her — seeming to stain her in ink, with just the tattooing imprint of his unabashedly curious stare. ] Not on anyone's terms but my own.
[ a fair warning. her own terms set on the table as all decrees are. the problem is this: she had never known her worth before. but now she knows her value — knows her only worth is how she can be used, wielded, a tool for another's ambitions. nothing less, nothing more — but it's a bargaining chip, all the same.
a snort puffs out of her, abandoning the last glimmering rhinestone haphazardly in a trinket box. ]
Am I speaking to a so-called demon, or was I mistaken? If I wasn't brave, I would have banished you the moment you popped into my room like a ghost. Your interest in me is enough to draw the wrong attention.
[ perhaps it's even braver to stare that demon in eyes and tip her chin, unflinching, unfazed by jagged teeth and haunting eyes, as she delivers that challenge. or perhaps it's just a wish for her to be put out of her misery, jaws clamped around her throat, when she drags alongside every step she takes — peering over her shoulder and greeting a brand new day's dread and guilt.
after another considering moment, pinning his gaze to hers: ] Was there more? I thought that speech was your proposal.
[ rueful, her lips curl, a portrait of faint sarcasm at both of their expenses. it's not a true answer, not really; she shoves away from the vanity, coming to a sudden stand. ]
I'll hear it. [ despite that, she's already sauntered away meaningfully, dipping behind a dressing partition, stark white and smelted in cheap gold. a breeze of dark hair flutters behind her when she pokes her head around, clarifying, ] You talk, I'll get changed before this stupid outfit pulverizes my ribs into dust.