twiddle

Oct 04, 2009 21:59

(For those new to this, "twiddle" is my word for these fragments of stories. Most of the fairy tales are more thorough than this; click on the tag to read those.)

"Masks"

His mouth on my hand, his breath on my skin - I shiver, and try to hide it, and masks slide across his face before he asks the same question he asks every night.

Mystery, mystery. He walks through my dreams as I walk through this house, a cautious exploration of intersecting worlds and undefined intentions.

There are spaces beasts possess in the world and in our minds. I feel his claws in places I thought were mine alone. He moves through my almost-sleep and, shaken, I bare my throat to him as he passes by.

One day, I find him hunting. He kisses me, flicks my knees apart; then stalks off, glancing back a promise. I trace the memory of passion, my lips still bearing the weight and heat of him; I watch him prowl the forest and, not-quite-prey, I stay behind.

We repeat this dance for ages.

And oh, you are the monster because this world tells us that you are. But when I press fingers to my flesh, I feel the fur hiding underneath.

How long before he discovers I am the more dangerous of the beasts?

fairy tale, twiddle

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