Tove kept her gaze away from Draevo’s lifeless form as best as she could. The prickling curiosity and guilt lingered, leaving her nauseous and dizzy, but she refused to succumb to the weight of those emotions. It was a deliberate act of self-preservation, a conscious choice to shield herself from the haunting image that threatened to etch itself into her soul. It had made her dizzy. Her eyes had only merely lingered before her view was blocked, she had only looked into the empty gaze for a few seconds but it was enough to make her shiver with grief. To haunt her dreams, to stain her memories. The thought of Gjalla discovering the truth gnawed at her—would she smell the scent of death on their coats? Would she know it was her brother? Would she know it was Tove's fault?
Despite the turmoil within, Tove focused on Faust, the man before her. She found herself wavering under the weight suddenly pressed into her but she squared her shoulders, her own head lowering to meet Faust. She let him pull her to him. Blood - his blood and the fallen prince's blood - coated the soft tendrils of her chest but she didn't move. She didn’t move from Faust’s side. She stayed where she belonged. Where she wanted to be.
"No, Faust," she murmured, her words hesitant, delicate, pulled from clenched teeth, a fragile melody against the heaviness that hung around them. Tove let out a tremulous sigh of air, holding back a whine. It tickled the light furs on his neck, closest to her snout. “He didn’t hurt me.” He didn’t, did he? Not really. It hadn’t gone that far, hadn’t gone far enough that her virtue had been stolen from her. She had been the first to draw blood, she had teased him, and then…
The sight of what was left of him flashed in her mind.
All of this, because of her.
Holding back a glimmer of tears, her paw, initially hesitant, found its way to the back of his neck, gently entwining within the coarse fur, a subtle gesture of comfort. Tove's touch was warm and gentle, a lifeline amidst the lingering echoes of brutality. A lifeline for even her. As Faust held her, his own weight shivering against muscled legs, the woman continued, her voice a soothing balm. Tender. Loving. “I’m here, with you.” The words were a promise, an affirmation that even in the aftermath of such darkness, she remained by his side. Even as she grappled with her own doubts, attempting to understand his duality, she would remain. Her gaze, though wet and troubled, held an unwavering strength - a quiet acknowledgment that they would face whatever came next together. “Always.”
It was a promise she’d whispered to him under the canopy of wisteria, before everything. Before she'd even fully understood what she'd meant. The weight of her words.
Always.
He was her always.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
The air around them was still heavy. It carried the scent of rain, blood, and damp earth. The stench of death. Of grief. Of pain, regret. It clung to both of them; it always would. It was a tangible reminder of the irreversible events that had unfolded tonight, that they would be forever changed. In midst of it all, Tove's heart ached and cried for Faust, for the torment etched on his face and the weight of the choices he had just made tonight. She knew she didn't understand it all and while she knew she couldn't erase the brutality he had unleashed, she still offered him a quiet anchor, a reminder that, despite the darkness, the brutality, she was here.
She buried her snout deeper in his furs with folded ears, careful of the wounds he now held, holding him. Tove knew she would have to get him back, to now help him, but for now, she stayed put. She would stay here as long as he needed. As long he needed an anchor, a support beam. “Always, Faust.” She repeated in a whisper, the hushed words easily missed if he wasn’t listening, her voice a tremble.
Always.
Despite the turmoil within, Tove focused on Faust, the man before her. She found herself wavering under the weight suddenly pressed into her but she squared her shoulders, her own head lowering to meet Faust. She let him pull her to him. Blood - his blood and the fallen prince's blood - coated the soft tendrils of her chest but she didn't move. She didn’t move from Faust’s side. She stayed where she belonged. Where she wanted to be.
"No, Faust," she murmured, her words hesitant, delicate, pulled from clenched teeth, a fragile melody against the heaviness that hung around them. Tove let out a tremulous sigh of air, holding back a whine. It tickled the light furs on his neck, closest to her snout. “He didn’t hurt me.” He didn’t, did he? Not really. It hadn’t gone that far, hadn’t gone far enough that her virtue had been stolen from her. She had been the first to draw blood, she had teased him, and then…
The sight of what was left of him flashed in her mind.
All of this, because of her.
Holding back a glimmer of tears, her paw, initially hesitant, found its way to the back of his neck, gently entwining within the coarse fur, a subtle gesture of comfort. Tove's touch was warm and gentle, a lifeline amidst the lingering echoes of brutality. A lifeline for even her. As Faust held her, his own weight shivering against muscled legs, the woman continued, her voice a soothing balm. Tender. Loving. “I’m here, with you.” The words were a promise, an affirmation that even in the aftermath of such darkness, she remained by his side. Even as she grappled with her own doubts, attempting to understand his duality, she would remain. Her gaze, though wet and troubled, held an unwavering strength - a quiet acknowledgment that they would face whatever came next together. “Always.”
It was a promise she’d whispered to him under the canopy of wisteria, before everything. Before she'd even fully understood what she'd meant. The weight of her words.
Always.
He was her always.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
The air around them was still heavy. It carried the scent of rain, blood, and damp earth. The stench of death. Of grief. Of pain, regret. It clung to both of them; it always would. It was a tangible reminder of the irreversible events that had unfolded tonight, that they would be forever changed. In midst of it all, Tove's heart ached and cried for Faust, for the torment etched on his face and the weight of the choices he had just made tonight. She knew she didn't understand it all and while she knew she couldn't erase the brutality he had unleashed, she still offered him a quiet anchor, a reminder that, despite the darkness, the brutality, she was here.
She buried her snout deeper in his furs with folded ears, careful of the wounds he now held, holding him. Tove knew she would have to get him back, to now help him, but for now, she stayed put. She would stay here as long as he needed. As long he needed an anchor, a support beam. “Always, Faust.” She repeated in a whisper, the hushed words easily missed if he wasn’t listening, her voice a tremble.
Always.
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