pumpkin pie, sugar plum ★ p, margy

[Margaery]

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Margaery might have possessed a smile reminiscent of her mother's and the wit of her uncle, but her temper, her rage... she inherited that from her father. She was not provoked as easily as he was, but once the fire began to burn, she found herself often engulfed in her own ancient awfulness. She could feel the flames coursing through her veins now, her gray eyes suddenly sparkling to life, fists closing so tightly that she could feel her nails drawing blood from her palms. For a moment, she relished in the anger, her silence a vow that she would destroy Hazel's mother for those scars. Nobody hurt her and lived. Nobody. And then she inhaled a deep breath and extinguished the spark. She had felt the monster in her coming out to play and for the sake of Hazel, dismissed it as quickly as it came. Perhaps one day, she'd have an opportunity to extract revenge on Hazel's mother. Until then, she'd keep her fury at bay. She had to.

[color=#b14767]"Hazel," Margaery began softly, turning to completely face the other girl. She simply stared at her for a moment, attempting to string together words that could possibly begin to convey both her appreciation and her concern. [color=#b14767]"Thank you." It was all she could manage, the tears returning to once more spill over her cheeks. She had so many other things to say, gracious and worried sentences that danced on the tip of her tongue. She opened her paled lips to try and express them but only fell silent again, her attention momentarily distracted by the blood on her palms. She wiped it away carefully, cautiously, investigating the skin that laid beneath. As terrible as vampirism was, at least her body healed faster. A bloodshot gaze would linger for another brief second before returning to Hazel.

She had scars too, ones that would have probably covered her entire body had it not regenerated so quickly. Her scars were from a family that reveled in chaos though. Fights. Defense. War. It was the mental scars that she still bore though- haunted by the memories of her father slaughtering the girl she loved, of him forcing her to slaughter her, of his all-too familiar anger, of his evilness that far surpassed their own. She drew her knees to her chest as she thought about it, momentarily burying her grayed face between her arms.

[color=#b14767]"Haze?" She inquired tenderly, voice muffled, [color=#b14767]"Can I give you a hug?" She asked partially for her own sake and partially for Hazel's. After days of not feeding, the idea of having a warm body so close to her fangs didn't seem like a particularly wise one. Then again, she was not what Bastille had told her. She knew that she would never hurt Hazel, knew that she didn't even have the capacity to fathom a thought about harming Hazel. But she wanted to make sure that the other girl was alright with it too. After all, being hugged by an a thousand year old vampire who had denied herself blood for the last couple of days was not something people sought out to do.

[color=#b14767]"And thank you..." She paused, [color=#b14767]"For brushing my hair and all."