It's not my intention to make him snap. [Not at this point in time. Maybe someday in the future if he became a real problem.] I just want to fuck with him.
[ Doesn't know if he can share it accurately. Doesn't know if he wants too, doesn't know if he likes the feeling of passing something so hot and precious to someone with so many teeth. But he thinks of Cesare's fingers hard around his face, his demands to have every goddamn thing he's told to stay away from, his accusations of Quentin being a liar and an oathbreaker and a whore--
[ The woman that sketches into Ianthe's mind is white and soft as marzipan, cheeks to bare breasts to the swell of her hip. The rich blonde of her hair almost tilts into red, but stops short of the color of her lips. He pushes his memory of the way it felt, too: a swell of affection and obsession, a ribbon of panic and guilt lacing through. ]
Protective necromantic fields. Only the one that created then and those they've attuned them to can pass freely through them. To everyone else, it's like walking into a brick wall without being granted access.
My house is warded. John has warded his house. It's a standard necromantic practice.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Okay, lemme see what I can do.
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— later....text....
He's scared of it
He wants it again
There's another woman, sometimes separately, sometimes she flickers in and out of you
Blonde, young, her features are fragile, but she looks
like you
ferocious
Re: — later....text....
Can you send me an image of this woman so I can see her with my mind's eye?
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[ Doesn't know if he can share it accurately. Doesn't know if he wants too, doesn't know if he likes the feeling of passing something so hot and precious to someone with so many teeth. But he thinks of Cesare's fingers hard around his face, his demands to have every goddamn thing he's told to stay away from, his accusations of Quentin being a liar and an oathbreaker and a whore--
[ The woman that sketches into Ianthe's mind is white and soft as marzipan, cheeks to bare breasts to the swell of her hip. The rich blonde of her hair almost tilts into red, but stops short of the color of her lips. He pushes his memory of the way it felt, too: a swell of affection and obsession, a ribbon of panic and guilt lacing through. ]
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It was you, then it was her, usually her in your clothes
But when I saw her just her, that's what I saw
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I appreciate this.
I have given Gilia complete access to my house, and safety behind my wards. You are welcome there should you ever need it.
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My house is warded. John has warded his house. It's a standard necromantic practice.
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Thank you
I shouldn't need it, but I appreciate it.
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