euphoria in decay

euphoria in decay, ten/rose, pg-13.

"Why not?" she asks, tears gathering in her honey eyes.

This is just one of many moments in flux.

They are a contradiction. Young and old; human and not. They are forbidden by laws and doctrines and clauses, by tired bodies in tired robes that burned to ashes and stardust long before her time, before she first burst out into the universe, all red-faced and bitter tears and confusion, before she learned to walk or read or jump or play tag or speak French or kiss boys or fuck men.


Sex in time; euphoria in decay.

He'd keep her forever, he says. Her forever, his forever, forever and ever. Keep her in a bigger-on-the-inside box with a lock, a little box he could look into. And she'd be safe in that box, safe from time and laws and lines in sand on faraway beaches.

But she'd never smile for him. She'd never hold his hand. He can't imagine anything worse than a world without Rose, except perhaps a world with a Rose broken by his own fears and possessiveness.

So she'll only ever live in a box big enough for two. And he'll follow his laws, until they break him.


They haven't broken him yet.

"We just can't," he says, not even trying to meet her eyes.