#whenever I see bloodwell vial I'm like 'it's for me'

[distant--shadow]

After what feels to Imogen like a short amount of time, she has Laudna's head resting on her chest, Imogen with one arm wrapped around her back inner arm moulding spine and hand at her hip, the other resting over Laudna's on top of her own rising and falling stomach, Laudna's infrequent breath causing comfortable gooseflesh over her tits, always a welcome reprieve from the humidity always

(always she said Imogen could always ask for her thoughts, and yet)

Laudna’s infrequent breath creates condensation on the surface of the bloodwell vial resting flat on Imogen’s chest, and Imogen lifts her hand away from Laudna's to draw a line through it, frosted glass turning deep red again, the touch cool and wet on her fingertip, displaced into a droplet that falls onto her sternum.

two spirits one vessel

“Do you like wearing our blood around your neck?”

Does the vial like to be a vessel? How does it feel about being made to serve? Housing two lives? I should animate and ask it.

Would it tell Laudna what she wants to hear? Should Imogen ask what it has said?

to be full of Imogen-

“I – it kept you with me – an’ it’s useful, thanks.”

Useful. Good.

It’s a lot to discuss. It’s hard to phrase…Imogen feels wary of speaking of being useful, but if it is the language Laudna comprehends…

“You- your blood turned to dust – when you - when ya passed. You can see-”

Imogen’s stomach still has bile to give for that memory. She swallows it down before holding the vial dangling from its leather string, turning it upside down so that the congealed collection of black ash re-distributes into the bright liquid crimson and falls like sands in a lethargic hourglass

slowed time

-snowglobe-

what’s a snowglobe?

-Whitestone-

It could bloom again – it has - she can-

Laudna’s canines show again, an almost snarl, her eyes slightly crossed on the narrow point of focus, head raised from Imogen's chest.

“Perhaps it is for the best, I would be rather worried if the hue of your magic darkened. Mortified, even.” Her lips pull taut plush purple on the offered pun.

Laudna covers Imogen's hand holding the lid of the blood vial with her own, turns it back the intended way up, ashes settling again, as she guides their hands over Imogen's breast, blown glass drop point of the vial a planchette drawing the base of her areola in a crescent, following the contour of  underside of her nipple

The glass is cold, stimulating, pathetically rousing to her, she is weak for her, levelled a block of a city for her, Imogen's lashes fluttering and throat humming-

It’s usually warm, familiar, indistinguishable from all’a the heat from Imogen's chest, the glass conduct to instigating the external blood to meet her internal body temperature.

Imogen's hips rise from the bed, shamelessly searching empty air for contact

What if Imogen’s magic were to influence mine-

Just ask.

Just ask. Ask before you swallow the sword.

She knows Orym is worthy of asking, that he should have. She should think, know of herself as such. Of being worthy, worth asking, wanting.

She’d offered her soul, at least part of it.

Was that not enough?

Laudna hovers over Imogen's chest, lips parted and eyes on Imogen's mouth, and as Imogen tilts her head forward to meet Laudna's Laudna brings the vial and Imogen's hand to her lips

She sucks on the base of the vial, runs her tongue over its tip, alternates, repeats, carries on over knuckles and skin and scar dog-licking wounds and fuck it should be weird maybe even kinda funny and Laudna is both of those things that’s true (and so is Imogen) but she’s lapping at a vial of her blood our blood and yeah it only seems fair if she wants to drink it and it ain’t weird ‘caus it was hers first and her scars have always been sensitive anyhow especially to Laudna and her temperature and her doting and her sharp points and Imogen’s skin is still stained black from being inside of her and it ain’t funny ‘caus it’s Laudna’s grin head tilted lips pursed on blood-swell high cheekbones eyes held like when she’s between her legs and-

“Remember to breathe, darling.”

“Remember to breathe, darling.”

Don’t make me fret - if I bite this glass will shatter and our blood will be ash in my mouth, and what use is that?

“After that, will you kiss me?” its barely a murmur passing whatever it is that has lodged itself in her throat, burnt umber ashes, saliva clotted paste Laudna would probably make use of as a ceramic glaze or a paint if Imogen- when Imogen dies first and Laudna is that time the one left with ashes

‘Can I kiss you?’ ‘Can I kiss you?’ ‘Can I kiss you?’ ‘Can I -

She smiles. Toothy and wide.

“Of course.”

Imogen makes a show of filling her lungs, breath deep and ribcage expanding, comically raising Laudna in her field of vision and they both start laughing and the oxygen occupying her chest is intoxicating love drunk room spinning giddy Laudna giddily kisses her throat, her jaw, her chin, the corner of her mouth before swallowing Imogen's laugh her love toxic intoxication into her own, down her windpipe and into her lungs