isn't it lovely all alone, heart made of glass, my mind of stone
She doesn’t understand why standing so close to him makes her feel something.
Just a stirring, and something still so flimsy and intangible that she isn’t even sure if it has a name. It was a warm feeling, similar to how she would feel sometimes when she was younger and her mother would gently caress her skin, or pull her in close to her chest. Like a watered down version of contentment, and something that instinctually told her it was a pleasant feeling and she should want more of it. But she never did. She never sought affection, or closeness, and even though that still isn’t what she wants from him, it confuses her that she feels anything at all. It makes her watch him with curious eyes, trying to understand what he is doing to slowly fill the hollow pieces of her.
She doesn’t flinch away when he draws himself alongside of her, but the way her dark eyes still echo with a vacancy when they look at him makes it nearly impossible to read if she even notices the closeness of him. But, there is a moment when her lily-white lips lift into a smile when he confirms that she wants to talk to him. Something fleetingly genuine that stirs a glimmer in her eyes and momentarily softens the indifference on her face, before it fades away back into almost nothing.
“No,” she answers his question in her quiet voice, briefly looking back to the others. “I just don’t fit in with them. I don’t really fit in with anyone.” Sometimes she thinks her connection to the stars plays a role, but she has never been able to fully figure it out. And here, in the light of day, with no starlight to be seen and the sun so bright that her skin can’t even glow, she knows that it’s just something wrong with her.
This time when she looks at him, her gaze locks fully with his, and she forgets the others that she cannot understand, and she forgets the stars. She looks at only him, with curiosity slowly swimming up from the endless dark of her eyes when she says, “You have some kind of magic. Did you know?” And again that almost shy smile whispers across her lips, and she reaches to touch her soft muzzle against his neck, the way she has seen her mother do. “You can fill up empty things.”
