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I’m surrounded by wealth that holds no value to me.
Gold may gleam, but it doesn’t stand the test of time. It wears down, loses its luster, becomes nothing but a needy, malleable surface with no durability. I loathe it. Just as I’ve come to loathe him.
I don’t know if the bones in my body are as gold as the rest of me, but for my sake, I hope they are. I hope my spine is gilded, because I’m going to need a strong backbone if I want to survive.
What a bastard, time is.
The commander’s eyes narrow at the sound, as if it personally offends him. “You’re hungry.”
I’d find you. Not his soldiers would find me, but him personally.
The corner of his mouth curves as much as his bowing spikes. “I look forward to the attempt.”
I like him
“The goldfinch likes her cage. What a shame.”
There’s something about having to lift your skirts and squat in the snow that really drags a girl down.
I try to seem like I’m just walking around aimlessly. It’s not difficult, considering I am aimless,
if I may … The king decreed that all clothes in his court be gold,” the old crone says, as if this rule somehow slipped my mind. As if it ever could when the gaudy color is everywhere.
Victory, not boredom, is what has me tapping my finger against the armrest. I’ll make my own divots now.
The problem with truths is that they’re like spices. Add a little, and it can enrich things, let you experience more layers. But if you pour out too much, it becomes unpalatable. My truths seem to always ruin the meal.
“We’re all captives of something, even things we don’t want to admit to.”
“You’re bathing with melted snow rags and shitting in holes just like the rest of us, so don’t try to pretend you’re any better!”
The women might not all be the heads of their houses, but they speak into the ears of the men who are. If done right, those whispered encouragements can become the subconscious thoughts of ignorant men.
“I find it funny that you so easily accuse me of manipulating you, when you seem to have turned a blind eye to your beloved king doing it for years.”
“Your anger is misplaced, but I like it,” he says with a feral grin, sharp canines gleaming. “Every time you let it leak out just a little bit more, I can see you better, Goldfinch.”
“I can’t wait to see the rest of you. When you let it go, when you finally let that out, your fury is going to light up the spirit you’ve shadowed.” He looks like someone who’s won, boasting in superiority. “I hope you burn so bright that you scorch your Golden King down to ash.”
“You may not be behind bars anymore, but you’re still in that cage. And I think part of you wants to stay in there because you’re afraid.”
When Midas promised to keep me safe, I asked him to prove it. This is him proving it.
as much as I’m comforted by the safety of my cage, I still get lonely inside. Bored. Sometimes, when I sleep, I wake up panicked at the feeling of being trapped.
“You don’t like to be touched. I don’t seem to mind so much.”
“Did you know, the color of your cheeks grows darker when you blush? Like warm umber,”
This smile is soft. It’s proud. “There it is, Goldfinch,” he purrs, and that dark caress is back in his voice. “You’ve finally found your fight.”
He rolls his eyes. “Must we talk about him?” “Why do you hate him so much?” His gaze goes cold. “The real question is, why don’t you hate him?”
“Sometimes,” he murmurs, “things need first to be ruined in order to then be remade.”
Our shadows move together, crossing and melding with one another, like they recognize something familiar.
Tell me, when did you decide to trade your ruination for his?” he asks cruelly.
Plotting is what I’m best at. A good thing too, since I lack both of the traits that this world respects: power and a penis.
“I wasn’t supposed to find you on that pirate ship,” he murmurs, voice like rippling water, the fluttering waves slicking against my ears.
“You didn’t have to take me with you,” I say, throat bobbing against his touch, defensiveness crawling through my tone. He strokes a fingertip across my racing pulse. “Yes, I did, Goldfinch.”
He drops his hand, and my body sways toward him before I can catch myself, like I wanted to follow his touch, to get it back.
“Kindness shouldn’t have to be earned. It should be freely given.”
Because even though that kiss was the softest, lightest touch, I felt its weight all the way down to my bones. And that can’t be a trick. Right?
Stop letting him dull you, stop letting the whole fucking world trample you,” he shouts, making me flinch from the vehement demand. “If you tried, you could shine brighter than the fucking sun. Instead, you’ve chosen to sit back and wither.”
Because King Ravinger just proved that he can rot the world and collapse it beneath the arrogance of his feet.
“Yeah,” he finally replies. “But for a different reason now.”
cause you're leaving :(
But Midas … They don’t get it. I can’t stay. Midas won’t let me go, not ever.
sounds like a healthy relationship dynamic. i cant leave because he won't let me :(
“Commander, I must insist that you don’t touch King Midas’s favored.” “I must insist that you shut the fuck up,” Osrik drawls.
tell em osrik
The intelligent are always considering the what-ifs, the could-happens. Our minds a constant spin of possibilities and outcomes. If you don’t worry, you’re either a fool or you’ve been fooled.
At least he’s a pretty fool who knows how to use his cock.
His handsome face shows overwhelming relief that’s so stark, so palpable, I can almost taste it.
😐 it's because he's obviously a fraud without you, not because he loves you.
Because there, built into the middle of the room, is a beautiful wrought iron cage.
Osrik was right—the woman I’m looking at right now? She’s nothing but a symbol for Midas. Not a person, not someone in charge of her own life, but a living and breathing image to showcase the Golden King’s might. The sight of her makes me sick.
“I know I let you down, Auren. I promised to always keep you safe, and I failed you. But I won’t fail you again,” he promises, his expression focused with determined intent.
This isn’t how I envisioned our reunion. Not at all. He was supposed to hold me and not want to let me go. Our separation was meant to make him open to hearing me. I imagined being wrapped in his arms for hours while he listened to me talk.
Disappointment is a roughhewn boulder settling in my stomach. It rolls and scrapes, making me go raw with the realization that none of that is going to happen. We’re picking right up where we left off. I thought because I’ve changed, that he would change too. What a silly, naive thought.
