she's the bright hot sun in the cold night
she's the cold black darkness in the starlight
She cannot say that she appreciated the way he laughed at her, the way his eyes lit up at the very sight of her in pain, but she also struggled to muster the same fury. It had dimmed in his presence, which in and of itself was frustrating, but even that was mild—fingers failing to find purchase on the edges of annoyance.
Still, she stuck to her guns, trying to grab whatever scraps of dignity were left to her, and she lifted her chin, shaking her slender body as if to rid herself of whatever snow had clung to her.
“Who is to say that there will be a next time?”
Never mind the fact that part of her warmed beneath his thoughts, the idea that someone could find her laugh a nice sound; never mind the fact that any rage has long since cooled in her belly. Lynx knew well enough to know that this world was not kind to those like him. She could not afford to be soft, vulnerable.
But that didn’t stop the slight mischievous glint in her dual-colored eyes. That didn’t stop the way the corner of her mouth curled into barest of amusements and then stubbornly pulled down in a straight line once more. “I think you would look rather magnificent with a mustache,” she sniffed haughtily, stealing a glance out of the corner of her eyes to study him. Maybe he wasn’t that terrible, wasn’t the bad, after all.
Not that she would ever admit that—not even to herself.
Another half-smile, quickly erased, as she straightened her shoulders.
Really, all of this was just improper.
