three. pica
Sometimes when Rook speaks, it's with the sound of rust grinding in his voicebox. The princess hasn't spoken in years, and so it gives Rook little reason to use his voice either. They communicate simply between each other, in soft touches and knowing looks. It makes the king worry, a disgusted drop in his stomach when he sees them together, and he wonders just what he's done to his daughter, if he's fated her to the love of a soulless man all her life.
They say those bound can't love, that they spend the rest of their lives following their bind as it moves across the earth, an instinctual need to devour their soul again, put it back in their bodies to keep. Many go out of their minds in age, if they live that long, developing a second personality to make up for the loss, a touch of pica as they struggle to swallow up their natural state.
Sometimes when Rook speaks, his mouth is dry, caked with sand across his tongue, and the king worries if he's destined his only child to a man who eats dirt and tastes redemption in it.
They say those bound can't love, that they spend the rest of their lives following their bind as it moves across the earth, an instinctual need to devour their soul again, put it back in their bodies to keep. Many go out of their minds in age, if they live that long, developing a second personality to make up for the loss, a touch of pica as they struggle to swallow up their natural state.
Sometimes when Rook speaks, his mouth is dry, caked with sand across his tongue, and the king worries if he's destined his only child to a man who eats dirt and tastes redemption in it.