In that moment, she feels fascinating.
Because he has made her so.
Perhaps there is something to be said for the stars splashed across her face and the way she glows, same as the stars in the sky, when the sun sets, and the way she draws things in with that steady pull of gravity. And she has loved these things, same as she has loved the stars, but she has never felt fascinating. Until now. Until he speaks it into existence and all that heat pools in her cheeks.
He says her name again and it echoes in each hemisphere of her brain and in each of the chambers of her heart. He says her name again and she knows that she would follow the sound of his voice to the edge of the earth. And perhaps this is a dangerous thing to think – for she is young, still, and they have only just met – but she thinks it all the same.
There is something dark and foreboding in his words. He’d never hurt her. The pulse quickens and her head swims but she does not look away. Because there is some thrill to be found in the danger of it, too, and she is but a foolish child but she wants more than anything to reach out and touch him and to have it not hurt either of them.
There is nothing she can think to say. So, the silence stretches thin between them. She understands, she thinks. Or, she can pretend that she does. She can convince herself that she does. Because he has given her no reason to fear him. Even if he did, though, she cannot say for sure if she would or not.
She swallows thickly in the wake of his admission, nods almost imperceptibly. But then something sharp twists at the very center of her. A blade plunged into the meat of her soul. He’d taken a small step toward her, almost as if by accident, and she cannot stop herself from taking a step now. She wants, more than anything, to rush to his side, to wrap him in a warm embrace, to kiss the brow and hold him close. But this is the most she can manage: one teetering step closer still.
“Why, Pentecost?” she asks, quiet, her brow darkened with concern, “why would you want to hurt yourself?”
Because he has made her so.
Perhaps there is something to be said for the stars splashed across her face and the way she glows, same as the stars in the sky, when the sun sets, and the way she draws things in with that steady pull of gravity. And she has loved these things, same as she has loved the stars, but she has never felt fascinating. Until now. Until he speaks it into existence and all that heat pools in her cheeks.
He says her name again and it echoes in each hemisphere of her brain and in each of the chambers of her heart. He says her name again and she knows that she would follow the sound of his voice to the edge of the earth. And perhaps this is a dangerous thing to think – for she is young, still, and they have only just met – but she thinks it all the same.
There is something dark and foreboding in his words. He’d never hurt her. The pulse quickens and her head swims but she does not look away. Because there is some thrill to be found in the danger of it, too, and she is but a foolish child but she wants more than anything to reach out and touch him and to have it not hurt either of them.
There is nothing she can think to say. So, the silence stretches thin between them. She understands, she thinks. Or, she can pretend that she does. She can convince herself that she does. Because he has given her no reason to fear him. Even if he did, though, she cannot say for sure if she would or not.
She swallows thickly in the wake of his admission, nods almost imperceptibly. But then something sharp twists at the very center of her. A blade plunged into the meat of her soul. He’d taken a small step toward her, almost as if by accident, and she cannot stop herself from taking a step now. She wants, more than anything, to rush to his side, to wrap him in a warm embrace, to kiss the brow and hold him close. But this is the most she can manage: one teetering step closer still.
“Why, Pentecost?” she asks, quiet, her brow darkened with concern, “why would you want to hurt yourself?”
leonora
@[Pentecost]