[ P ] the rocks beneath my feet begin to crack

back then, i was dauntless—

"I still think you could be." A faint smile ghosts across her lips, amused with the subtle correction. Odysseus is as cryptic as they come, and it makes Senka want to unravel him for all the wrong reasons; his secrecy only makes her want to know what he's done that's so worth guarding. There's something about the darkness in him that calls to the flame in her, sparking an ember that she should be unwilling to share. But how low has that light simmered in the endless loneliness of the last months?

Somehow, Odysseus has lit the pilot light again, and Senka didn't know how much she'd missed that burn until it coursed through her again, setting every nerve alight.

That heat flares when he leans closer, a breath away from touching; Senka tenses, all but holding her breath when he hovers across her neck. His cool breath skates across her cheek, and the room immediately plunges further into darkness, robbing her of coherent thought. She doesn't dare move a muscle until Odysseus pulls away again, his every movement slow enough that she's certain they're deliberate, and then she slowly lets out her held breath.

She feels his absence acutely, despite the fact that she had been the one to demand distance between them in the first place. "Tell me what that means," she murmurs, as if it will distract him—or her, she isn't really sure—from the way her forepaws slowly unfurl, pressing against the wall for leverage. Senka cautiously pushes away from the corner, shifting across the bed only until her withers make contact with some part of him she cannot identify, and then she abruptly stops, freezing on the spot. She isn't even inebriated, and Odysseus is chipping away at her mask of resolve anyway, and all it really takes is his undivided attention.

—i'd burn so bright it blinded

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my demons come to play

A greedy little thing she was turning out to be. Senka had remained unmoving when he leaned over her, practically holding her breath. Now she wanted more, more sweet nothings whispered into her ear to fill the void Augustine had left. She wasn't the first married woman to find herself under his sheets so she'd find no guilt in expression. Odysseus pulled no punches when it came to whatever or whomever he wanted. "Hmm?" The question was evident in the hum that vibrated in his throat. He assumed she wanted to know what he meant by her being an asset. She asked had asked once before, the first night had crossed a line with her. It was safe to say she was asking again. But he couldn't make it that easy for her.

Melting from her frozen state, she was sliding across the bed, her legs extending to push her away from the wall and straight into him. There wasn't much distance for her to cover before her withers pressed against the flat of his shoulder. She froze again.

Odysseus would lift his head, turning slightly to look at her. The embers of desire flicker in his stare as he watches her. He shifts then, unfurling his mass just a bit more, giving her access to the spot beside him that she truly wanted. "Don't be shy." In the dark, she likely wouldn't be able to see the way one brow quirked slightly, but nothing hid the open challenge in his eyes. He willing to give her whatever she wanted, all she needed to do was take it.

Maybe it was test, he'd have to think about that later. Was she willing to cross lines, to break vows? He wasn't offering her sex, he wasn't so naive as to think she'd be giving it up tonight. But he was curious, would she take it too far and press into his side, would she fall asleep wrapped in another mans embrace? The intrigue was there, written into the shadows of his visage. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that she had always played the good wife, that she hadn't ever dared to step a toe out of line. Until tonight.

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back then, i was dauntless—

Odysseus has no idea just how greedy Senka can be. She preens under affection, and withers without it—how could he know the weight of her desperation when he has only known this hollow, jaded shell of her? She is searching for pieces of herself, misplacing her trust in the man beside her as though he might help slot them back together, as though he might take over when her fingers tremble too much to hold them in place. Fates know that Augustine only watches them crack and crumble, and then pours himself into the bottle like his wife isn't shattering right in front of him.

"You know what I mean," she returns, sighing softly. Senka doesn't want to play this game tonight—the one where he makes her pry every half answer from him with more difficulty than pulling teeth. "Tell me," Senka insists stubbornly, her tone breathy. In a battle of wills, she is unlikely to win against Odysseus, but she cannot bring herself to so easily submit, either.

She can feel the welcome in how he shifts behind her, creating a space in which Senka knows she would fit perfectly; she ignores it at first. "Don't be shy," he tempts, the serpent in the apple tree. Senka huffs softly, withholding the bemused simper from her lips. "I'm not shy," she corrects, her tone just as quiet as before, but firm. It isn't shyness that's had her refusing to look at him this entire time; it's the fact that her trust in herself is waning by the second.

"I was just—curious." She finally moves, rolling slowly onto her back, and inevitably further into the warmth of Odysseus's side. Her forepaws curl against her breastbone, her muzzle finally tipping towards him so that she can meet the blazing challenge in his stare; her skull nestles into the pillow, and she peers up at him with a glint in her eyes and the faintest of smirks toying across her lips. "If Giselle was right, that is," Senka clarifies, her expression borderline playful.

—i'd burn so bright it blinded

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my demons come to play

One by one he peels back the layers that make up Senka. She has a stubbornness to her, she won’t be deterred by his games and he has half a mind to give into her. Just to see what she’s like when she does get her way. He’s already seen her angry, coiled up like a snake ready to strike. Now he wanted to see her soft, compliant, satiated by the attention she sought. “Most politicians wives are all the same. A pretty face. Shallow. No other ambition besides being arm candy for their husband.” Was that her once upon a time or did that fire he got a glimpse of always lurk just beneath the surface? “You observe everything though, don’t you?” They’d spent so little time together, most of what he thought he knew was just an assumption. Even the most tame housewife had claws after a few stiff drinks. “Or maybe I’m wrong entirely.” Vocals were tinged with light tones of teasing.

I’m not shy. She declares. It pulls a low, brief laugh from the depths of his chest. The sound is warm and inviting. I was just - curious. “Oh?” He promoted. Anything else he might have said was lost the moment she rolled onto her back. She offered him a whole new view, letting him map the curve of her waist. Her paws curled against her chest and her head would tip further back, leaving her throat exposed. Lazily, he watched, male satisfaction darkening his amethyst eyes. Something glittered in her eyes as she peeks up at him, a coy smirk lifting her lips. She wanted to know if Giselle was right. Genuine amusement lingered on his features.

Her expression was different, it teetered on the edge of playful. It looked far better on her than anything else he had seen. Her eyes warmed and softened, just the very corners of her lips tipped upwards. "I might be biased, but she is." A sly grin crept along his lips, the wolf self assured in a way that just a bit arrogant. As if to prove his body, he would curl just a bit tighter around her, securing her against his side as if she were his to claim.

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back then, i was dauntless—

He finally gives her a straight answer, and Senka considers his words quietly, the gears of her mind whirring. He’s right, of course—that very unambitious and vapid nature lives in many of the women she knows whose husbands run in Augustine’s political circle. They care about the latest fashion, the town gossip, who’s worth noticing and who is meant to be dirt beneath their paws. She finds it all horribly exhausting and pointless. Senka has the misfortune of being from ambitious breeding and then having her wings clipped with the expectations set out for her. She had accepted her path—with Augustine’s adoration, she could cope with an otherwise sedate life. With his attention elsewhere, her thoughts have nothing to do but turn dark and jaded.

Odysseus barely knows her, and yet he sees her.

It’s terrifying. It’s invigorating. It’s so sinfully tempting that she thinks she might truly be Eve.

“You’re not wrong,” is all she says, confirming everything he’d claimed. She watches everything, quiet as a dormouse, so obstinately demure that no one has ever once questioned how much information is hidden in her pretty head. Not until now. Even Augustine has never really bothered to consider that there’s more to her.

She likes the way those sharp eyes watch every shift of her body, trailing languidly over her curves barely illuminated in the candlelight. Senka likes every second of attention he gives her, and how nearly every time she turns to look at him, she finds him already watching. It’s a dangerous thing, craving his undivided focus as she does. Odysseus rises to her challenge, curling further into her; Senka burns everywhere they touch. She withholds the urge to shiver, or to nestle further into him.

Instead, she goads him.

“You know,” she purrs, squirming slightly in place as though she’s uncomfortable, “I think you are biased.” That smirk still lingers on her lips, her tone halfway between teasing and daring. She’s likely to regret every foolish thing she’s said in the morning, but just now, she wants nothing more than to be held like he has no intention of ever letting go.

—i'd burn so bright it blinded

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my demons come to play

A bored housewife was often an easy conquest. But there was something to be said for Senka, There had always been a sharpness to her downcast stare. She flitted about her home, always the hostess, whether it be to her husband or their guests. He had seen it, experienced it even. How did Augustine not notice the way her eyes lingered on the papers piled on his desk as she passed, or the hesitation in her step when she left the room? The way the door took a second to click shut than normal? Or maybe he simply didn't think her knowing would have any consequences. Whatever the reason, Augustine was oblivious to the snake in his own garden, making him another cliche politician.

She wouldn't outright agree with his observation, she would only claim him to not be wrong. His answering grin was sly, alluding to the tidbits of knowledge that he knew about her. If he were the marrying type, maybe he would have considered her to be suitable, had she not already been married. But he wasn't, and more than that, he knew deep down where the loyalties of his heart truly lied. Not to mention Augustine wouldn't let go of his army candy until his dying breath.

Wiggling against him, she would rip him from the intricate workings of his mind. Her voice is a seductive purr that draws him in and holds him there. She wants a reaction and she was attempting to spur one out of him. The low rumble of his laughter filled the room, the sound dark, rich, like the expensive bourbon her husband drank, followed by a pleasant burn. 'Maybe so." He conceded. "But you haven't gotten the full experienced." Heavy innuendo painted his words, the languid heat of his voice dripping sex. Odysseus would lean into her, as if he were going to press his lips to hers. "Go to sleep, Senka." Her name rolled of his tongue like he knew each and every syllable intimately, as if he had said it for years in the dark. Then he was pulling away, leaving her with only the memory of what might have been.

exit?

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lift with your knees, atlas—

She likes the sound of his laugh—Senka thinks it might be the most genuine thing about him. The rest of him, she's certain, is a ruse, a carefully-constructed mask meant to throw off those around him so they never suspect what lies beneath. He's had curious and itching since that night he visited the house, but Odysseus eludes her every question like oil on water, leaving her only burning with more curiosity.

He leans in, and there's all sorts of sinful promises in those violet eyes that gleam at her in the dark. Senka meets his gaze with slightly flared nostrils, a flush creeping up the back of her neck at the warmth of his breath upon her lips. She should pull away, she should pull away—and then he's gone, breaking contact and leaving her buzzing on the edge of something she has no business entertaining.

Odysseus tells her to go to sleep, and she rolls back towards the wall with her nerves still on edge, blowing out a slow breath through her lips. She drags a pillow against her breast, burrowing her face into the fluff and struggling with the rampant racing of her mind until she falls into a light, fitful sleep that doesn't last nearly enough hours.

exeunt senka via sleep

—the heavens are a burden

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