I'LL ALWAYS ACHE WITH AN EMPTY HEART xx (jupiderp)

She could tell when the realization hit Jupiter, and yet Medusa made no great fuss over it. The thought of it was enough to fill her veins with poison, to make her feel like her whole existence was rotting away. And yet, what was so terrible? She had always welcomed such approaches, she had flirted with the men like a harlot, had she not called upon them for such an act? Had she not wanted it? No, you didn?t a distant part of her echoed, and yet it was so detached from herself that she did not believe it. "There were three of them. I don?t know where they are," she told the alpha, and for once she didn?t say with a purr or a whine. Instead her voice sounded blank, emotionless, as if she couldn?t possible add a reaction to it without fear of breaking apart. "I am not worth the effort, my sweet. I flirt and tempt all, and I did the same with them. I asked for it," she said, but her body shook briefly. It was a show of vulnerability, one that was so rare. The wounds on the back of her neck pulsed with memory, as she felt the feel of their teeth biting into her scruff and ripping back, contorting her body into an awkward position as they?as they?
No.

Jupiter seemingly did not realize what Medusa had been saying, nor how truly poisonous the serpent?s bite could be. "I could never be faithful to you, at least not in the way you?d want. I could never let you own my body, I could never give you my everything. I cannot promise, either, that I won?t try to harm those that would get in the way of us. I am not a good person, my sun, my star," she purred. "I do not take care of the things that belong to me. The only thing I could ever promise you would be that I would never let another own my heart the way you own mine," she said. She could love Jupiter like no other, but she would never be capable of fidelity in the physical sense. Her mind had been too twisted and contorted by her upbringing. Medusa could not remember the beginning; she could see images of a beauty who gave her away, of a crooked man?s crooked smile, of a grip on her neck that had been similar to the one that had given her her current injuries.

Strangely enough, she only ever remembered being willing. The first year and a half of her life were missing, wiped out as if they were a secret too powerful to share.
The touch of her vixen was enough to let lose a contented sigh, enjoying the heat of Jupiter?s breath against her ear. The question was one that she didn?t know how to answer, nor did she want to. "Nothing," she whispered back, sweet venom that she said before she left a kiss upon Jupiter?s face, beneath her ear. "I want, but there is so little I deserve. I am not a saint, in fact I have never done a good deed in my life," she mentioned. It was the truth, or perhaps if she had she could not recall it. She was allergic to decency, unaware of anything but ambition and selfishness.
Their closeness was too much; it broke Medusa to know that she was so close to Jupiter, so close to owning the one good thing in her life, and yet she was denying herself. Her resolve wavered, the scent of her sun drawing her in. "If you want to give me your heart my sweet, I will take it. I will keep it safe, but I cannot promise I won?t grip too tight and bruise it," she said. "You can only ever be assured that I will never loosen my grasp enough for it to slip through and fall to the ground," she said, and it was the truth.