09-09-2021, 01:53 AM
este
“The night does not bother me,” she tells him with a softened eagerness, as if she needs to reassure him that she can survive in the dark, that she is not so fragile that she could not bear it for even a few hours. “It’s only when the night does not end that I get sick, like during the eclipse.” She does not think it possible that his darkness—this beautiful night sky that he carries with him, and the silver stars he suspends in the trees—could hurt her. His night is enchanting and sparkling, and nothing at all like the crushing dark of the eclipse that had pressed the life nearly out of her chest. “I do fine in the dark, now,” she continues quietly, her doe-eyes locked to his hopefully, searching for any sign of give in his hardened face, looking for a sign that he did not believe her unable to withstand darkness for any length of time.
She wants to tell him that she has her light that she carries with her.
She wants to show him that brilliant glow of hers, that sunshine that she locks inside of herself and turns it back into the world rose gold and lovely.
She wants to show him that he can wrap her up in his night and that she will be just fine, but she is afraid that somehow her light will drive him away, and so she says nothing.
“Your night is nothing like the dark from before,” she finally voices her earlier thoughts out loud, desperate to make him see. He has stepped closer to her and the way her knees feel weak has nothing to do with the dark around them; she welcomes it, wants to feel the weight of it. “I’m not afraid of it, or of you.”
He keeps getting closer and her heart keeps beating harder, and by the time his mouth touches her warm shoulder she nearly crumbles. She trembles just the way that he had wanted, her skin flushing so hot she thinks it a wonder it does not burn him, thinks there is no way he could not feel the way she is about to fall apart beneath his lips. No one has ever touched her in any way close to this, and she can imagine herself reaching out to touch him back, to run her mouth along the curve of his neck. She wants to, but she is afraid that somehow her touching him will shatter this dream-like state they are in.
She almost does not hear him when he says show me the light again, love, but she responds to it anyway, as if her mind and body was designed for him.
It is dim at first, gradual as the rising sun. The light spills from her, steadily increasing, until the brightness of it can nearly swallow this night that he has crafted for them. She did not mean to let it light up the dark in such a way, but she finds that she has little to no control over anything that she does anymore, because when the light fades away, she too has changed. A ring of rose gold light remains illuminated above her head, and a pair of angel wings made of the same silver-gray and rose-gold as the rest of her envelope her sides. All around her a soft aura of rose gold continues to glow, and she is breathless and wide-eyed when she looks at him, as if she is just waking from a dream and is surprised to find herself in this state.
She does not move from where she stands, still staring at him as if she is awaiting his judgement, and something that he had said earlier that had been lost in the haze is recalled, and she asks him in that soft, innocent way of hers, “Why would you need saving from me?”
She wants to tell him that she has her light that she carries with her.
She wants to show him that brilliant glow of hers, that sunshine that she locks inside of herself and turns it back into the world rose gold and lovely.
She wants to show him that he can wrap her up in his night and that she will be just fine, but she is afraid that somehow her light will drive him away, and so she says nothing.
“Your night is nothing like the dark from before,” she finally voices her earlier thoughts out loud, desperate to make him see. He has stepped closer to her and the way her knees feel weak has nothing to do with the dark around them; she welcomes it, wants to feel the weight of it. “I’m not afraid of it, or of you.”
He keeps getting closer and her heart keeps beating harder, and by the time his mouth touches her warm shoulder she nearly crumbles. She trembles just the way that he had wanted, her skin flushing so hot she thinks it a wonder it does not burn him, thinks there is no way he could not feel the way she is about to fall apart beneath his lips. No one has ever touched her in any way close to this, and she can imagine herself reaching out to touch him back, to run her mouth along the curve of his neck. She wants to, but she is afraid that somehow her touching him will shatter this dream-like state they are in.
She almost does not hear him when he says show me the light again, love, but she responds to it anyway, as if her mind and body was designed for him.
It is dim at first, gradual as the rising sun. The light spills from her, steadily increasing, until the brightness of it can nearly swallow this night that he has crafted for them. She did not mean to let it light up the dark in such a way, but she finds that she has little to no control over anything that she does anymore, because when the light fades away, she too has changed. A ring of rose gold light remains illuminated above her head, and a pair of angel wings made of the same silver-gray and rose-gold as the rest of her envelope her sides. All around her a soft aura of rose gold continues to glow, and she is breathless and wide-eyed when she looks at him, as if she is just waking from a dream and is surprised to find herself in this state.
She does not move from where she stands, still staring at him as if she is awaiting his judgement, and something that he had said earlier that had been lost in the haze is recalled, and she asks him in that soft, innocent way of hers, “Why would you need saving from me?”
BUT WHO COULD STAY?
