Date: 2010-07-27 03:49 am (UTC)
white_flowers: (Default)
It is a great risk he takes, perhaps more of one than he knows.

For one such as as she is now, her will alone is all she needs to taint her breath with poison, to spread rot and decay through the touch of a finger ... or any other part of herself, come to that.

At the first sign of his movement she is sure it is an attack, but of course it is, it must be, and power surges upward within her as she prepares to strike--

-- only to spiral backward upon itself in a tangled coil as his lips meet hers and Blodwen freezes in confused shock.

With unthinking, instinctive awareness she redirects the gathered wave of poisoned force as it surges again, seeking the necessary outlet. Her fingers clench tightly around the crystal cube in her hand, which gives one unearthly keening shriek and falls to dust.

Her other hand, already half-raised to strike before, now settles against the front of his jacket and rests lightly there without harm.

She does not precisely return his kiss, no-- but neither does she pull away from him.
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Blodwen Rowlands

July 2010

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