He thought she was stupid. He thought she was an ignorant, naive, useless child. Well, she was a child, he at least had that part right. But she wouldn’t be this way forever. Would he still think her stupid if she was an adult saying these things? Would he still find her stupid when she grew into her curves, when her sweet lips could caress his skin, when she could get into his mind in a different way? She ponders that as she watches him, her baby-doll head still cocked askew, her long lashes brushing her cheek bones as she blinks innocently up at him. ”Do you hate all children, or just me?” A look of hurt mars her youthful face for just a moment, but her cobalt-blue eyes glitter mischievously, and her laughter chases the look away. She was impossible to offend.
Toying with him was fun, but what if she just told him the truth? She had never actually told anyone what she could do. Most never even knew the ways in which she invaded their minds; she often kept to herself, taking it all in, storing it away, and then disappearing without a word. ”You didn’t say it, but you thought it. You didn’t even really consciously think it, but we tend to do that when we think about those that we know; we think their names without realizing it, putting a label with their face as we picture them.” Again, her words are spoken too precisely; she had the nauseatingly sweet voice of a child, and yet her way of speaking didn’t seem to match it.
”I’m Starsin.” And here, a bemused smirk twists across her lips, as she says almost nonchalantly, ”You don’t have to say your name out loud. Just think it, and I’ll know.”
@[dominik]
