SALTBURNT | inbox.

[begot]

WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

USERNAME
AMY

text 🍒 audio 🍒 video
 

Comments

– 🎬

[scathe]

OK

[walking with her, showing up in any sort of sense, is a type of seeing for elias, and amy is letting him in. they've been in each other's orbit for weeks, overlapping only by chance outside of their sessions together. asking how it happened seems too far when he doesn't need the answer, now hellbent on fixating his hatred at saltburnt toward angel, a deserving pawn who happened to fall into his line of sight.]

Here

[he doesn't knock. he leans against the wall across from the bedroom, amy's room strictly off-limits in his mind. he creates space for her to see what's around the two of them, puts himself smack-dab in the middle. when she opens the door, his demeanor toward her has changed significantly. expression is less hardened by the walls he puts up, eyes a little softer, though there is an absence of pity. elias hates pity.]

Hi, Amy.

[begot]

[ It only takes a moment — thirty seconds at most — for the door to open after his text goes through. She's always like this, punctual and prompt. The shift is in her demeanor: a little tense, like she's seen a raincloud in the distance and expects it to bolt across the sky. (In other words, what she expects people will expect from her. At least it's not the first time she's thought about how to present herself in the wake of an abduction, even if this one wasn't orchestrated by her own hand.) ]

Hi, Elias.

[ She doesn't fully smile, remembering their conversation in the portrait hall, but her expression still brightens upon seeing him. And that's genuine, at least, even if so much else isn't. ]

Can I—

[ Her fingers, curled into her sleeves, tighten in their hold. This is pushing an invisible line, she knows that, but things have changed.

He looks at her differently, now. ]

Can I hug you?

[scathe]

[she looks better in the sense of presentation. cleaned up and braced for being perceived through elias' eyes. he remembers what he'd done after the SLC, in the looking through a fogged window sense. he wasn't ever done right by anyone, so he forced his hand on the world that did him wrong. god's hand, because god was gone and it was his responsibility to weigh justice on a scale of his own making.

he looks both ways like he's waiting for oncoming traffic, like amy is the one crossing a four-lane high-speed highway to reach him. physical affection is difficult for him when it isn't between sheets, and approaching her is as deliberate and calculated as a feral animal experiencing tenderness for the first time. elias steps toward her, unblinking and watchful, outstretching his hand first. he thinks of how roza or isolde likes to be held. how women like to be held. how his mother held him as a child.

hand caressing her cheek, then sweeping gently through her hair to cradle the back of her head, his other arm wraps around her waist to pull her in to his chest for an embrace. amy is a warm comfort in his arms.]