Duplicitous | T.N.

LV • An Opal Curse

Our hearts are dangerous when left unkept.

How can an organ the size of an average fist be so destructive? It's purpose is to nurture life, to maintain our source of survival, our breath. It pumps in a rhythm suited for its owner and it obeys the subject of the mind, drumming along accordingly. It is the subtle way the heart sings which seep through veins and tangles through flesh, a chorus riddled with passion and a soul eloped with poetry.

It's potential however is far darker. You cannot appreciate such, with the loud absence of pain.

Our hearts are dangerous when left unkept.

Prone to impulse, lust, chaos. The possibilities are endless, no matter how beautiful or how ugly the result may be, there are many who blindly follow it. Left vulnerable, they perish, and so there are the few who hide in the shadows, teasing the edge before swiftly running from it.

Some say a life without love is crueler than one with mass heartbreak. Theodore Nott did not agree, for he was a soul who never took the chance to experience such passion. Never crossing the bridge of possibilities he lingered on the one side. Taking no chances confirmed loneliness, a fate far worse than hurt.

Our hearts are dangerous when left unkept. Perhaps that's why our ribs serve as cages...

A cynic like he, had to have been birthed through a twisted traumatic tale. He figured witnessing his mothers murder at the hands of his own father was enough to evoke a pessimistic being.

He sat there, festering in a pool of his own self pity, the liquified sorrow stealing his youth from underneath him and without it, leaving him to drown. The pain poured down his throat as he gurgled for a gasp of breath, failing to do so he felt his heart stop and with it his will.

He lay awake, his arm tucked under her, breath unsteady. The recollection of the previous evening scorched him. His behaviour not at all foreign, he treated an assortment of girls as such weekly. However his intention remained alarmingly alien.

He did not wish to simply bed and toss her.
And the thought scared him as much as it would any other emotionally unavailable boy. Fleeing from attachment, he was familiar, he did so regularly. He could point fingers and blame fate for intertwining them, however as he thought deeper it was he who knotted the role of which tugged them closer.

A sickly warmth swayed within hit gut, mixed dangerously amongst the butterflies that flapped the walls of his insides. He day-dreamt their vast perish one by one. Before he may've accused such a tingle for the sickness caused the previous night, his intoxication offering him a final uncomfortable sensation. But he was aware how such was entirely untrue.

With one final breath, he swallowed any oxygen his lungs could take. "Aurora." He nudged the sleeping girl. "Aurora." He murmured twice.

The girl lay unmoving before him. Her lips puffy, her nose red, her hair, for some reason unknown to him, a ghastly mess. Strands of brown thrown across the cushion at all angles. Some, when he first awoke, on his face. He wandered how such had occurred, they'd barely moved. He collected the curl that lay draped over her eyes, shifting the lock over her head. This stirred her from her slumber.

Eyes-lids clenching shut, she grimaced. Reluctantly, his eyes followed the movement of her fluttered lashes as the top separated from the lower. Faded blue met caramel brown. She jumped.

Surprised, he waited patiently for the events to process through her slow morning mind. With a closed mouthed whine, she examined her surroundings. His own eyes followed her gaze. The window displayed the navy sky. It was still dark out. He watched as her shoulders relaxed untangling the worry that tensed them, he watched as she realised how she had ended up in his arms. "What time is it?" Came her croaked voice.