Myself | Arsenic | Incomplete
"Well, maybe a spicy angel. I don’t do saints."
"Doubtful. I was an asshole when we met. You brought me out of." He mocked a gasp. "It was your demon magic all along."
She sighed, lips quirking into a crooked smile
then allowed a laugh to part from them. He still
wasn’t quite grasping that she was being literal,
that technically she was the polar opposite of
an angel by her very nature. She wasn’t being
metaphorical but the mood lightened.
❝ I’ve spent the last few centuries surrounded by assholes,
you’ve never acted like one. My ‘demon magic’ as you phrase
it can influence a lot of things but not someone’s personality. ❞
A crooked smile bowed his hair. He could argue; he was an asshole. It must have been the heightened heat he felt that forbade him. Do, do, do. Owen lifted his pale, left hand in examination. One, two, three… he counted the lines. Demon, angel, vampire, human—what did he care? They met only four months ago, and, somehow, this poisonous woman made him happy in two of the shittiest times in his life. Storm clouds clear when sunshine is near. “You know—I do not like myself right now. But I really like you.”
"And I don’t even know your name."