Shadowglass

Dennis crouches panting in the dark and watches Appolonnia rummage through junk, her form partly hidden by the counter. Beside him, Danny’s safe crackles, iron ringing in his metal-sensitive ears. Dennis can’t see inside, not such a small space enclosed by metal. He was about to crack it open when she turned up, and now he can’t move lest she notice him.

But part of him wants her to notice him, to see him and smile, that berry blush staining her cheeks. He watches, strange peace warming his heart. She’s so pretty and innocent. Fruity hair tumbles across her brow, unheeded, tangled ends dragging on her bare shoulders. She’s concentrating, a drop of water hanging from her nose, her pretty silken wings folded back.

Hunting for the mirror.

She won’t find it.

Satisfaction tickles his nose, and he suppresses a sneeze, his eyes stinging. He’s already searched through everything, glass and wires and bent metal and pretty things that any other day he might want to keep. The spiteful thing isn’t here, unless it’s in the safe. Andy teased her desire for him to find it—a cruel and heart-shy beast, that Andy—nasty Andy tortured her to find the mirror, and now in a flush of silvery rage Dennis knows why.

Andy wants Dennis gone.

Wants rid of him, and foolish enough to think the mirror might oblige. Wants everything boring and lifeless, without reckless impulse to light the way. Wants pretty Apples all to himself, wants to trick and tempt and possess her and scrape away with his rough iron will all the chaos that makes her so beautiful.

Wants to leave her lost and shivering, alone in her prison of fear.

Dennis grits metal teeth, disgust sharp on his tongue like poison. If she were his, he’d not ruin her so. He’d keep her, wild and challenged and mirrorcrazy, and if she must bleed to death in his arms to preserve that perfection, then so be it.

Fury boils his blood molten, and he makes up his mind. She’s his, Dennis', in all her insane beauty, and Andy can’t have her. Can’t ruin her. Not ever.

And here she comes. Copper-tainted love swells Dennis’s rusty heart, tempering his anger to sweetness, and he looks down, checking himself for mess. Blood on his shirt again, thick and green and already drying, and awkwardness prickles his palms with sweat. An accident. He didn’t mean it. The spriggan just caught him by surprise. But black is such a lying color. She’ll never see, not if he distracts her properly. He rises, sweaty palms leaving a dark smear on his jeans...

Notes

Because you guys keep bribing me with awesome gifs...

Hope you enjoy!

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- Grimm :)