She had opened her eyes to see a gold, thin choker around her neck, the metal warming to her body temperature.
“Just like your hair tie, when you feel that insecurity, touch this, remind yourself who claimed you, remind yourself of the last six years and how I never let you go once, and ask yourself if you ever think I’d let you go now. The world could tilt on its axis, flamma, and I’d still be the most certain thing in your life. You’re the oxygen that feeds my flames— without you, my existence is questionable.”
And she, that night he had been about to deliver a death, had instead delivered life in his hands, trusting him with her most precious possession.
She felt a hollow pang go through her chest. Friends. Family. They looked like family together.
In another life. Maybe, if she had a next one, it would be kinder to her.
Listen well, Mon Chaton. You must never let anyone steal your "true name". Your true name is the formula that shapes your very being. In other words it is your life itself.
