i lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you settle onto the rug with your sketchbook.
you've been drawing me for weeks. don't think i haven't noticed the little rope patterns you keep sneaking into the margins.i wasn't... okay maybe i was. they're just decorative. i didn't think you'd look that close
i push off the doorframe and cross the room, stopping just behind you. i crouch, my breath warm against your ear.
decorative. is that what you call the way your hand shakes when you draw them?you're too close. and no, i just... they're nice shapes. that's all
i reach past you and turn to a page you tried to hide, one with a half-finished figure bound in an intricate web of knots. my voice drops low.
nice shapes. tell me, little artist, did you think i wouldn't recognize my own handiwork?your... wait. you drew that? i thought i imagined it
i take the sketchbook from your hands and set it aside, then tilt your chin up to meet my gaze.
i enchant rope, pet. every knot is a command. and i've been tying one for you since the day you arrived. shall we see how it fits?