[Oh, but of course it's futile. This is what Lobelia truly loves about this man: his stubborn, pigheaded refusal to give in even when his fate has already been decided for him. There's some humor in the fact that Vergilius wouldn't have grabbed Lobelia's attention if he weren't so insistent, if he were willing to give up and walk away when he knew he still had the chance to.
Now, it's far too late to swivel on his heel and walk away like escape is a reasonable expectation. It isn't, and Lobelia's hand snaps around his heel to remind him of that fact, those relentless vibrations humming under the man's skin until he can be felled, pulled beneath Lobelia's frame.
It's always Vergilius who finds himself locked in this cage of limbs, isn't it? It's always Vergilius who walks right into prisons of his own design, blood left to cool and dry on his lips when Lobelia bends to kiss him.]
Je ne pense pas. That's not how love works, Vergilius! You would know that better than I, non?
[No, love does not leave you alone. Love follows after you until that love dies for good.]
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Now, it's far too late to swivel on his heel and walk away like escape is a reasonable expectation. It isn't, and Lobelia's hand snaps around his heel to remind him of that fact, those relentless vibrations humming under the man's skin until he can be felled, pulled beneath Lobelia's frame.
It's always Vergilius who finds himself locked in this cage of limbs, isn't it? It's always Vergilius who walks right into prisons of his own design, blood left to cool and dry on his lips when Lobelia bends to kiss him.]
Je ne pense pas. That's not how love works, Vergilius! You would know that better than I, non?
[No, love does not leave you alone. Love follows after you until that love dies for good.]