Asterion says Mum bought you pearls again and Ariadne rolls her eyes, provoking, and pushes the comb through her straight hair with more force than necessary.
sometimes she dreams of being dead
Asterion watches from the other side of his room, frozen on the childish office chair their parents bought him years ago; his fingernails drill in the ripped cotton that’s washed and bleached down to a hideous sea-green by now.
it’s not as horrible as it sounds
His eyes never leave his sister’s body – how she sways, how she bends, how she fucking moves – He wants to chain her up.
a grave may be dark but a grave is silent
Strap her. Strip her.
a grave doesn’t judge
Cut and purge and caress her wild-kissed brown skin that glistens golden and warm as soon as stray sun-rays cast their bright shine on her. He wants to bite down in the soft flesh of her thighs and choke on the blood that he will taste there.
a grave doesn’t care if you’ve put enough makeup on your face
or if your dress is long enough to cover your thighs
but short enough to show your kneesHe wants to moan. To unravel her. To rip the delicate layer of her skin with his bare hands.
a grave simply is
He wants to fuck her, to control her, to thrust into her, deeper and deeper, he wants to – Do you think Theseus will notice me? Asterion blinks.
instead she wakes in the mornings
and is too exhausted to try living againAriadne turns around and faces him, her lips shiny and luscious and pink. Ariadne, his sister. He swallows.
persephone's corner 