When I die, I'll let go

Absinth's gaze was alight with amusement as her former companion grinned, his words echoing like an old, familiar tune. One from a past of pain and struggle. But here they both were. Older, scarred, and still fucking brats at heart. She watched as he mockingly bowed in response to her gesture, an impish smirk playing at the corners of her lips. Snarky fucker. She would have expected no less from him. He quipped about princesses and commands before moving in for the final strike. Absinth huffed in annoyance and rolled her eyes as he dispatched the wounded tiger, his movements swift and brutal.

The monochromatic fae observed the scene with a mix of intrigue and detachment, her emerald eyes betraying no hint of remorse for their quarry but she did seem to have a vested interest in the killer himself. As the life drained from the beast, Flare's voice broke the silence, his tone laced with teasing familiarity. ‘So you went from dancing in the street with your merry band of orphans to frolicking in the meadows?’ He said, his words playfully incredulous. ‘Fucking hell, Absinth. If you need someone to rescue you, I can play Prince for a day. Maybe a week, if you're lucky.’ Absinth couldn't help but chuckle at his jest, but her teeth still flashed as she grinned wide and dangerously. “Oh, Flare,” The woman replied, drawing closer with a predatory air, her tone a blend of mischief and exaggerated affection that didn’t seem quite right. “You know damn well I’ve never been one to wait for rescue.” She tossed a sly grin to the brute, then inclined her head towards the blood staining his fur. “Although… you might want to clean up some more before playing the part of the gallant prince. It doesn’t suit you one fucking bit.” And if she were a Princess, she wouldn’t nearly be half as covered with the blood from the fight herself. She stepped up to him, aligning herself with his taller stature as she stared intently at him. Like she was making sure, one last time, that it was really him. The kid she wasn’t allowed to grow up with. There was no grand flicker or flash of softness in her gaze, no tender moment, because she was as double-edged of a woman as a sword was. Instead her proximity had all the makings of a challenge, “What did it take, to survive, Flare?” Blunt as ever, though she knew the answer. It took everything.

wormwood