They're holding hands and it burns. He doesn't want to feel relaxed around her; he doesn't want to soften the blow; he wants it to sting and wants it to go away all at once. He wants to get that image out of his head of a proud young lady posturing in a proud set of armor; he wants to engrave it forever in his memories. He wants to throw her off the edge of the earth and he wants to drown her and set her ablaze and delight in her suffering. She's mortal and foolish and still he wants her all to himself.
He told her back then she could make of his proposal whatever she wished, but now he really would marry this Hermione Granger. For power. For influence. But most importantly for stubbornness, just to say that he could, just to settle that childish score between them.
They're holding hands and she's gentle with him. Too gentle, and he drifts because of it, pictures someone else in her stead. He clings to her too quickly, and it gives away his own loneliness, how both hands wrap around hers. They are strong and protective and all the things he once pretended to be with her.
He's not pretending right now. The light of his mana dances over her skin, settles in. He gifts her strength and fortitude without even thinking about it, as he always would before their lessons. This is the will of the King of Heroes who has been touched by her compassion and reveals himself for the crownless wanderer he's been since he arrived.]
He will always love you more than me.
[It's such a pathetic thing to say. It's his only form of apology, this sad little surrender. His heart sinks.]
And I will always love that small part of you, even from many miles away, where I can do you no harm.
[So much for not talking about it. Gilgamesh just spilled all of it all over the place.]
no subject
They're holding hands and it burns. He doesn't want to feel relaxed around her; he doesn't want to soften the blow; he wants it to sting and wants it to go away all at once. He wants to get that image out of his head of a proud young lady posturing in a proud set of armor; he wants to engrave it forever in his memories. He wants to throw her off the edge of the earth and he wants to drown her and set her ablaze and delight in her suffering. She's mortal and foolish and still he wants her all to himself.
He told her back then she could make of his proposal whatever she wished, but now he really would marry this Hermione Granger. For power. For influence. But most importantly for stubbornness, just to say that he could, just to settle that childish score between them.
They're holding hands and she's gentle with him. Too gentle, and he drifts because of it, pictures someone else in her stead. He clings to her too quickly, and it gives away his own loneliness, how both hands wrap around hers. They are strong and protective and all the things he once pretended to be with her.
He's not pretending right now. The light of his mana dances over her skin, settles in. He gifts her strength and fortitude without even thinking about it, as he always would before their lessons. This is the will of the King of Heroes who has been touched by her compassion and reveals himself for the crownless wanderer he's been since he arrived.]
He will always love you more than me.
[It's such a pathetic thing to say. It's his only form of apology, this sad little surrender. His heart sinks.]
And I will always love that small part of you, even from many miles away, where I can do you no harm.
[So much for not talking about it. Gilgamesh just spilled all of it all over the place.]