I make mountains out of stones and with that timber, burn a hundred fires
His words are daggers in her breast and she swallows the venom down. She lets the pain take root, and she doesn’t fight against the way that it spreads in her. Because maybe he would be okay with her going and having her own adventures, but it has never stopped the guilt that flourishes in her veins. It has never stopped the way that she feels a stone in her chest when she flees in the middle of the night.
She swallows it down and tries to not imagine all of the different ways she will never forgive herself. The way that she feels more joyous when she flies beneath the moonlight and more sorrow when she returns.
But such things never rise to the surface of her expression because she can feel nothing but the warmth of her love for him consume her. She feels nothing but the way that it spreads through her chest and flutter against her ribcage. “We’ll see as much of it together as we can,” she affirms quietly, reaching over to press the velvet of her nose to the curve of his neck, the sweep of his jaw. The glass is cold to the touch but it reminds her of home, of their mother, and she would never find anything but comfort in it.
They continue to walk side by side and she flares her aching wings and then settles it over her back again.
“There won’t be many stories to tell because you will have experienced all of them.”
She laughs, rolling her shoulders, as they continue.
“Where do you want us to go first?”
TESSA