litzplosion
he's been a pawn in the lord's game for too long. he sheds more feathers every day, his wings grow tired, his trigger finger is rubbed raw. too many mortals in too little time. if only there weren't a time limit.
one step two, one step two. the waltz is a simple dance to learn. one step two, one step two. spin. her two left feet make it needlessly difficult. he plans to put up with her failure until she succeeds.
he bought her a collar, and she was happy. she wore her collar when they went on walks, and she was happy. she wore her collar when his wife had her baby, and she was happy. she wore her collar when she curled around his baby, and she was happy.
the bows in her hair vary in color. they change by the day, the month, the year. occasionally, the hour. every day he likes to untie them and drape them over the lamps so the light shines different colors on the wall. sometimes they catch on fire. this annoys her.
she always plays with the bits of string that hang from the hem of her shorts, all cut-off and ripped and stuff, like lots of new-fangled fashiony-type things. he doesn't really see the point of destroying denim, but hey, if that's what the kids like. when she stops fiddling with her god damn shorts, he knows she's listening.
their personalities clash like a hot and cold collision. they never did like each other - though something changed somewhere along the line - but now their relationship holds a sort of... loving quality. tolerance. perhaps something more.