drabble . 008 -- even
drabble . 008 -- word of the day: human
fandom: chronicles of avendor
characters: mikhail and fortuna
title: even
---
"I'm a monster."
"Mikhail, come back to bed."
"No."
He was lying on the couch, pulling the blankets over his tear-stained cheeks up to his reddened eyes, guilt churning his stomach and spurring occasional choked sobs. He'd almost killed her that night in his sleep; while he was caught in a nightmare, his arms were around her, crushing her, stealing her breath with his inhuman strength. The fact that he was awake almost instantly upon feeling her struggle had been no consolation. He was a monster, he decided, and monsters don't share beds with significant others.
His hands were heavy with the blood he'd spilled over the years. It was the life of a demon, wasn't it? Kill. Kill anything that got in the way. Kill men and women and children, kill relatives and strangers, kill lovers and enemies alike. Nothing could be left alive in the wake of a demon. And that's what he was--it was what he couldn't stop from being. He was trapped by his genetics.
"Then move over." Fortuna lifted the blankets and Mikhail alike, slipping beneath him, head resting on the arm of the couch with Mikhail's resting on her chest. "You're not a monster, and you're not unfit to share a bed with me. The worst crime you've committed tonight is being an incurably whiny child. You can try to move elsewhere in the house to sleep, but I will continue to follow you."
But to Fortuna, genetics were not the sole definition of humanity. Being human was more than having human blood and human skin. Humans were about action and reaction.
Mikhail laughed when he was happy and cried when he was devastated; he smiled and loved almost unconditionally, innocently, like a child who didn't know pain and rejection even though his life had been nothing but filled with it. Most of all, Mikhail felt remorse--remorse for every life he's ever taken, and every life he could've helped save but failed, and every life he watched another take. He felt remorse for killing animals, remorse for cruelty. He took it upon himself to feel remorse that was no business of his to feel; he put his body between guilt and the intended recipient, taking the blows that always ended with him curled up in bed, sobbing. It was both his strength and his weakness, and it was what made him completely, utterly human.
It was a concept that was foreign and fascinating and yes, even worthy of respect. Fortuna had spilled double the blood Mikhail had and felt only a fraction of the guilt he did. She could snap a man's neck without giving it a second thought. She'd done it before, and there was a good possibility she'd do it again. She was cold, calculating, merciless--like a demon. She should be the one punishing herself, sitting alone in the dark and crying for all her deeds. But she didn't. She couldn't. She wasn't even sure she was capable.
"You're a little more than human, and I'm a little less. Just stick with me and we'll break even," she whispered, resting her chin on his head.
fandom: chronicles of avendor
characters: mikhail and fortuna
title: even
---
"I'm a monster."
"Mikhail, come back to bed."
"No."
He was lying on the couch, pulling the blankets over his tear-stained cheeks up to his reddened eyes, guilt churning his stomach and spurring occasional choked sobs. He'd almost killed her that night in his sleep; while he was caught in a nightmare, his arms were around her, crushing her, stealing her breath with his inhuman strength. The fact that he was awake almost instantly upon feeling her struggle had been no consolation. He was a monster, he decided, and monsters don't share beds with significant others.
His hands were heavy with the blood he'd spilled over the years. It was the life of a demon, wasn't it? Kill. Kill anything that got in the way. Kill men and women and children, kill relatives and strangers, kill lovers and enemies alike. Nothing could be left alive in the wake of a demon. And that's what he was--it was what he couldn't stop from being. He was trapped by his genetics.
"Then move over." Fortuna lifted the blankets and Mikhail alike, slipping beneath him, head resting on the arm of the couch with Mikhail's resting on her chest. "You're not a monster, and you're not unfit to share a bed with me. The worst crime you've committed tonight is being an incurably whiny child. You can try to move elsewhere in the house to sleep, but I will continue to follow you."
But to Fortuna, genetics were not the sole definition of humanity. Being human was more than having human blood and human skin. Humans were about action and reaction.
Mikhail laughed when he was happy and cried when he was devastated; he smiled and loved almost unconditionally, innocently, like a child who didn't know pain and rejection even though his life had been nothing but filled with it. Most of all, Mikhail felt remorse--remorse for every life he's ever taken, and every life he could've helped save but failed, and every life he watched another take. He felt remorse for killing animals, remorse for cruelty. He took it upon himself to feel remorse that was no business of his to feel; he put his body between guilt and the intended recipient, taking the blows that always ended with him curled up in bed, sobbing. It was both his strength and his weakness, and it was what made him completely, utterly human.
It was a concept that was foreign and fascinating and yes, even worthy of respect. Fortuna had spilled double the blood Mikhail had and felt only a fraction of the guilt he did. She could snap a man's neck without giving it a second thought. She'd done it before, and there was a good possibility she'd do it again. She was cold, calculating, merciless--like a demon. She should be the one punishing herself, sitting alone in the dark and crying for all her deeds. But she didn't. She couldn't. She wasn't even sure she was capable.
"You're a little more than human, and I'm a little less. Just stick with me and we'll break even," she whispered, resting her chin on his head.