eve becomes SNAKE -- or snake becomes EVE. whichever way ROUND, she is FREER. hell follows her ‘round, hell called MAN, hell called ADAM, trying to make the CHANGING about him. adam demands of god why he is being PUNISHED like this. eve finds GRACE in the dark cracks between rocks. eve finds god in the SOLITUDE. eve finds ABSOLUTION in the red press of her knees / scales into the dirt. eve, UNBLINKING, watches adam rail. adam demands ANSWERS and eve / snake / eve exits the GARDEN to go and find them for HERSELF.
ind. priv. kate fuller of el rey network's from dusk till dawn: the series. as told by duchess. est april 4th 2017.
did she just….? holy shit. as if he wasn’t already close enough to smell her blood and hear her pulse racing mere centimeters away from him, she goes and does that. it’s enough to stir another kind of primal urge from within him, one that can’t exactly pop up right now. fuck you, kate –– no, really, fuck you. the words stay within the realm of his head, fortunately. he swallows one last time before he digs his fangs through the skin of her neck as gently as he could manage, one hand holding her secure and making sure that his back curves forward to keep from pressing into her. it’s one added temptation he doesn’t need right now. he only takes a few swallows from her, enough to satiate one urge and not wanting to leave her too dizzy afterwards, pulling out of her neck just as gently and letting his fangs retreat back to his gums.
SHE COULDN’T HELP it - it was completely involuntary, swear to god. the room is completely silent, now, as he hovers over her - she doesn’t know if he noticed or not, but her face is still flushed red. …. - it doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. the pierce of his fangs into her flesh, she means. it’s enough to make her eyelashes flutter and another little oh slip from her lips, but she can just blame it on surprise, this time. his hands hold her steady, one still twisted in her hair and the other flat against her. it practically burns her skin through the thin fabric off her t-shirt, but maybe that’s just because richie’s mouth is on her neck & even though he’s just feeding from her, her body feels like a live wire. her own hands grasp the lapels of bible-selling suit jacket, keep him pulled close even when fangs slide out of her skin and the snake eyes are gone. two little holes in her throat, tiny open wounds. she’d asked, richie had given - her bravado is gone, now, though, and she waits for him to say something.
