you’re every good day

Absinth's expression softened as she listened to Yarra's account, her shoulders though felt heavy with the weight of knowledge that her father was near. Hunting her, essentially. It was all her mind kept circling back to. But she had to remain in the moment, had to keep her wits about her until she could let the scream that was caught in her throat out where no one could hear it. No one could hear her fall apart like she wanted to, and then pick herself back up to face the nightmare that had come to life before her eyes. She was allowed to do that, wasn’t she? Ah, fuckkk.

She reached out, her paw coming to gently trace those bruised ribs of Yarra’s, the very same her father had touched; only Absinth was far kinder than he. Offering tender circles in some attempt to ease Yarrabelle’s soreness. An apology for her sire’s cruelty. “It’s fine, Yarrabelle.” Absinth said, her voice low and resolute. Steady as she could make it sound. But what to tell the battered woman about her brush with death? “He… has a knack for getting what he wants, anyways. If he was already here, in boreas, then it was only a matter of time before he caught my trail, or heard my name on someone else’s lips. And were it anyone else who’s not so fond of me, they might have led him straight to me.” She breathes the last sentence out like a praise, emeralds locking onto Yarra’s own verdant gaze. Tough, brutal woman – she’d taken quite the beating keeping Absinth safe. The proof was in the pudding, as it were.

A shiver ran down Absinth's spine at the mention of her name triggering such a drastic reaction in her father. As Yarra continued, Absinth's brow only furrowed further, her mind racing with the implications of her father's behavior. She hadn’t expected him to be in a stellar mood, but… hadn’t he always preached about keeping intentions hidden, even if it drove you mad? Silly Absinth, he was always mad. Master manipulator, why had she ever believed a word out of his mouth? “He is insane, to put it frankly. I don’t think he ever had any fucking screws to begin with, let alone loose ones.” She murmured, the pieces slowly falling into place as she explained the behavior to the magenta woman. What Absinth didn’t expect was Yarra’s admission that even she had been unsettled by the ivory man. “He is angry with me. Very put out. He’s throwing a tantrum. Because I didn’t sit and stay and wait for him to collect me. I will be damned if he thinks he can come back into my life and toy with me.” Her tone had begun strongly, conviction lacing every word and backed by anger; but as she went on her tone trembled, frustration falling from her tongue alongside the words as her lips curled in a hateful sneer. She ran away from a fate chosen for her, and from his embrace. It was better than being his plaything, better than being a strung out whore too.

Yarra's question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken uncertainty. Absinth took a moment to gather her thoughts before meeting Yarra's gaze with a dull resolve. The resignation that the next words out of her mouth might damage the image of herself that Yarrabelle enjoyed so much. That the monochrome predator had once been prey. “He's... caused me pain in the past, among other things. I was – I am his favorite. Which to him is just a pretty way of saying I’m his current obsession. He plays with living things until he breaks them. Like a spoiled child, with ever replaceable toys.” Absinth admitted, her voice barely above a whisper as her face, her mask of strength and confidence cracked ever so slightly, eyes flickering between uncertainty and haunting memories. Why hadn’t he just filled the void she’d left with another soul, another daughter? Something, someone, anyone that wasn’t her. What was she to do with the fear in her heart, the despair of the child she had been when she ran away from him in the first place?

wormwood