03-07-2021, 05:47 PM
His eyes are so green it feels like gazing back at a summer day. It is a shade brighter than any meadow or flower, and she swears she can almost smell the fresh sweetness of grass the longer she holds his gaze. It’s like a teasing hint of freedom from this new normal of perpetual dark and bone-aching cold. For a while it seems like neither one is willing to look away, like there is some kind of secret strength they each find in the other's eyes.
She doesn’t realize she can drown in the green just as easily as she could in the blue of any ocean, doesn’t realize she’s at the risk of falling into them forever. She is too busy standing at the edge, too busy peering in and wondering how far away the bottom is.
Then he shifts, and she realizes he must be trying to rise and all she’s doing is staring at him like some dumb idiot, memorizing a green she knows she would never in a million years forget. She takes a step back to give him space, and when he struggles she wants to reach out with shadow to help lift him. But she doesn’t know him well enough to know if that would hurt his pride, if he would feel helpless instead of helped. If it would make him feel small. So she lets him win this battle on his own, and the only hint that she would’ve liked to do more is the rippling tension running beneath the skin along her jaw and shoulders. But surely he’s not looking close enough to notice.
His gaze drops and his ears fall back, and she knows she must have stung him with the sharpness of her words. Stupid words, why had she even said them? She wants to apologize, but there is a weight in her chest and a binding over her tongue that keeps her quiet now for fear of saying the wrong thing yet again. She hadn’t meant to be rude, she just hadn’t thought it through.
Her mismatched eyes avert from his as she moves close again to examine the broken wing hanging at his side. It’s so pulverized that it is no wonder it cannot move, and when she reaches out to it the only thing he’ll feel is the warmth of her breath between the feathers. It would be easier to touch him, but she doesn’t want to hurt him. For a moment her eyes close, and it takes a lot more effort than earlier to call on the healing magic that lives beneath her skin. She knows it must be nearly exhausted by now, but the way he had murmured please repeats in the quiet of her thoughts. With sweat dampening her neck, she wrestles the last dregs of power into some kind of order, pushing it like smoke in amongst the broken bones until at last they start to knit back together.
It would have been only half as hard if she’d just pulled the wing straight first, but the way she can imagine his voice sounding when it is tinged with pain leaves her feeling queasy.
She sways when she is finished, feeling exhausted from the effort of keeping him here, keeping him alive. Her cheek brushes his neck, but the unexpected contact has her stepping back again, frowning as she blinks away the spots of pale light flickering in her periphery. “It could’ve tried.” She says in answer, grateful when her eyes find his again and seem to steady there. “I’m meaner than I look.” The smile that flashes across her mouth is so fast, so fleeting, it’s likely he missed it entirely. But then she softens because for some reason she cannot help herself around him, and steps close enough to duck her head beside his and feel the heat of his skin reaching for the heat of hers.
She thinks back on the wounds she had first healed, the open chasm where it was very plausible something had ruptured from him. The idea disgusts her, but instead of recoiling she moves to his chest to very slowly, very gently, lay her cheek against his skin and listen to the sounds inside him. “I don’t hear anything else in there.” She says after a moment, pulling back to find his handsome face again. “Just the sound of your heart.” Still beating, of course, and that thought makes her smile again in a soft, subtle way. But his worries unravel from him and she realizes she is the very worst person he could be trying to find comfort in. She is cold and distant and more awkward than he could possibly know, but she reaches out to touch her nose to his neck.
“There’s nothing to forgive, I promise.” But she isn’t sure how to help him, isn’t sure of anything except the fact that she wants to help him. That she isn’t done trying to keep him safe. “It sounds worse than any nightmare I’ve had.” She says, and she doesn’t feel bad for telling a lie when he’ll never know the truth anyway. “This looks pretty real.” She says, reaching out absently to touch the long gash across his chest, the point of rupture. Then, as though looking at it is enough to force her to relive the horror of finding him flayed and bleeding out, “Where do you live? We shouldn’t be out here. You smell like death and now I smell like you. We’re irresistible.” Her tone is an odd mix of worry and humor, of pain and disgust. “Come on, I’ll go with you. We can watch each other's backs. I think it’ll be a long walk.”
Or a death march, she thinks. They are both beyond exhausted now.
She doesn’t realize she can drown in the green just as easily as she could in the blue of any ocean, doesn’t realize she’s at the risk of falling into them forever. She is too busy standing at the edge, too busy peering in and wondering how far away the bottom is.
Then he shifts, and she realizes he must be trying to rise and all she’s doing is staring at him like some dumb idiot, memorizing a green she knows she would never in a million years forget. She takes a step back to give him space, and when he struggles she wants to reach out with shadow to help lift him. But she doesn’t know him well enough to know if that would hurt his pride, if he would feel helpless instead of helped. If it would make him feel small. So she lets him win this battle on his own, and the only hint that she would’ve liked to do more is the rippling tension running beneath the skin along her jaw and shoulders. But surely he’s not looking close enough to notice.
His gaze drops and his ears fall back, and she knows she must have stung him with the sharpness of her words. Stupid words, why had she even said them? She wants to apologize, but there is a weight in her chest and a binding over her tongue that keeps her quiet now for fear of saying the wrong thing yet again. She hadn’t meant to be rude, she just hadn’t thought it through.
Her mismatched eyes avert from his as she moves close again to examine the broken wing hanging at his side. It’s so pulverized that it is no wonder it cannot move, and when she reaches out to it the only thing he’ll feel is the warmth of her breath between the feathers. It would be easier to touch him, but she doesn’t want to hurt him. For a moment her eyes close, and it takes a lot more effort than earlier to call on the healing magic that lives beneath her skin. She knows it must be nearly exhausted by now, but the way he had murmured please repeats in the quiet of her thoughts. With sweat dampening her neck, she wrestles the last dregs of power into some kind of order, pushing it like smoke in amongst the broken bones until at last they start to knit back together.
It would have been only half as hard if she’d just pulled the wing straight first, but the way she can imagine his voice sounding when it is tinged with pain leaves her feeling queasy.
She sways when she is finished, feeling exhausted from the effort of keeping him here, keeping him alive. Her cheek brushes his neck, but the unexpected contact has her stepping back again, frowning as she blinks away the spots of pale light flickering in her periphery. “It could’ve tried.” She says in answer, grateful when her eyes find his again and seem to steady there. “I’m meaner than I look.” The smile that flashes across her mouth is so fast, so fleeting, it’s likely he missed it entirely. But then she softens because for some reason she cannot help herself around him, and steps close enough to duck her head beside his and feel the heat of his skin reaching for the heat of hers.
She thinks back on the wounds she had first healed, the open chasm where it was very plausible something had ruptured from him. The idea disgusts her, but instead of recoiling she moves to his chest to very slowly, very gently, lay her cheek against his skin and listen to the sounds inside him. “I don’t hear anything else in there.” She says after a moment, pulling back to find his handsome face again. “Just the sound of your heart.” Still beating, of course, and that thought makes her smile again in a soft, subtle way. But his worries unravel from him and she realizes she is the very worst person he could be trying to find comfort in. She is cold and distant and more awkward than he could possibly know, but she reaches out to touch her nose to his neck.
“There’s nothing to forgive, I promise.” But she isn’t sure how to help him, isn’t sure of anything except the fact that she wants to help him. That she isn’t done trying to keep him safe. “It sounds worse than any nightmare I’ve had.” She says, and she doesn’t feel bad for telling a lie when he’ll never know the truth anyway. “This looks pretty real.” She says, reaching out absently to touch the long gash across his chest, the point of rupture. Then, as though looking at it is enough to force her to relive the horror of finding him flayed and bleeding out, “Where do you live? We shouldn’t be out here. You smell like death and now I smell like you. We’re irresistible.” Her tone is an odd mix of worry and humor, of pain and disgust. “Come on, I’ll go with you. We can watch each other's backs. I think it’ll be a long walk.”
Or a death march, she thinks. They are both beyond exhausted now.
ILLUMINAE
we can't dream when we're awake,
or fall in love with a heart too strong to break
@[Nashua]