Odin Sphere, Onyx/Gwendolyn, skin smooth and hot as baked clay - 2/2
“Oswald,” is all Gwendolyn can choke out. She can’t tell if she is speaking his name or crying out to him for help but it’s enough to make Onyx pause and let Gwendolyn collect her wits. “Release me and let me go to him.”
Onyx sets Gwendolyn on her feet and watches, never letting his eyes leave her, as she stumbles around on still shaky footing to collect her Psypher and splash a drop of healing tonic on her burns. As her tottering legs take her towards the entrance of the throne room Onyx calls out to her departing figure, “If by chance your husband is naught but ash and bone when you find him you are always welcome to drown in the grief of fresh widowhood in my accepting arms.”
The expression on her face as turns to look at him isn’t as fierce as he anticipated and, maybe it’s just his imagination, filled with regret and longing.