02-03-2020, 02:35 PM
Her breath has gone thin.
She can feel the edges of her vision begin to soften.
And she does not know what these things mean. They frighten her, certainly, but not in a way that makes her want to flee. No, they frighten her in a way that urges her to venture closer, to investigate further. The nerves ache with their want to touch him and their want dissolves around the sharp edges of need when he speaks next.
Again, heat pools in her cheeks and she smiles sweetly, bashfully. But she does not look away this time. Not even with the way her pulse thunders in her throat. She is something split cleanly in two by a pair of equally visceral reactions. There is one part of her that says to turn and leave before she does something rash, before she burns him, too. And there is a second part, equal in size and conviction, that urges her to stay right here for the rest of her life.
Darkness gathers, puckered, on the horizon. The sun has slipped from its post and, as it descends, that shine of hers intensifies. Where it had once brought with it a flicker of embarrassment, she embraces it fully now. Because she’s looking at him now and thinking that she would do anything to keep his clouds away. She draws away her gaze only long enough to chance a glance up at the sky – clear, the stars winking at them overhead, the only witnesses to whatever magic is transpiring between the two of them now.
He says her name then, pulls her back down to earth, and her heart lodges itself into the narrow space at the base of her throat. Not even her mother had murmured her name so sweetly. She does not grin or tilt her head coyly, just looks at him boldly, stricken. There is a brand new vulnerability in those diamond eyes and he could certainly tell just by looking at her that, in that moment, she is willing to tell him anything.
Empathy. She thinks of the bird she’d leapt into the air to kiss and how it had fallen down dead and how grief had wrapped its iron fist around her heart and would not relinquish its grip for months. She swallows thickly now, thinks there must be a wrong answer. She blinks, slow, but does not look away.
“Yes,” she whispers. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
The voice shakes and she lets out a thin breath.
“Do you?”
She can feel the edges of her vision begin to soften.
And she does not know what these things mean. They frighten her, certainly, but not in a way that makes her want to flee. No, they frighten her in a way that urges her to venture closer, to investigate further. The nerves ache with their want to touch him and their want dissolves around the sharp edges of need when he speaks next.
Again, heat pools in her cheeks and she smiles sweetly, bashfully. But she does not look away this time. Not even with the way her pulse thunders in her throat. She is something split cleanly in two by a pair of equally visceral reactions. There is one part of her that says to turn and leave before she does something rash, before she burns him, too. And there is a second part, equal in size and conviction, that urges her to stay right here for the rest of her life.
Darkness gathers, puckered, on the horizon. The sun has slipped from its post and, as it descends, that shine of hers intensifies. Where it had once brought with it a flicker of embarrassment, she embraces it fully now. Because she’s looking at him now and thinking that she would do anything to keep his clouds away. She draws away her gaze only long enough to chance a glance up at the sky – clear, the stars winking at them overhead, the only witnesses to whatever magic is transpiring between the two of them now.
He says her name then, pulls her back down to earth, and her heart lodges itself into the narrow space at the base of her throat. Not even her mother had murmured her name so sweetly. She does not grin or tilt her head coyly, just looks at him boldly, stricken. There is a brand new vulnerability in those diamond eyes and he could certainly tell just by looking at her that, in that moment, she is willing to tell him anything.
Empathy. She thinks of the bird she’d leapt into the air to kiss and how it had fallen down dead and how grief had wrapped its iron fist around her heart and would not relinquish its grip for months. She swallows thickly now, thinks there must be a wrong answer. She blinks, slow, but does not look away.
“Yes,” she whispers. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
The voice shakes and she lets out a thin breath.
“Do you?”
leonora
@[Pentecost]