DESPOINA
Despoina wasn’t particularly skilled at anything, but she was talented at avoiding. At running. At burying her head in the sand. She was a champion at turning the other cheek, pretending that she was not constantly falling on the sword of her making. But despite this, she cannot avoid him. Finds that it is nearly impossible for her to do so. He finds her, a beacon in the light, and she shifts, angling toward him.
“I can try,” she murmurs and is surprised to find the her voice is nearly insolent, almost petulant. She had never considered her particularly moody before but he has always seen the worst of her and it is not a surprise to find that today it is no different, not when the guilt eats away at her. Feeling the corrosive nature of it, she sighs and would go to leave if she did not feel that constant tug of his own gravity.
She swallows hard and glances toward him, studying the canine shape of him. How natural that they would have found one another like this. How tragic. How perfectly fitting for her life.
“I don’t have the words,” she finally admits, and this at least is the truth. Something dredged up from the depths of her bastard heart. How could she explain to him what she didn’t understand? How could she tell him what had happened when it still doesn’t make sense to her? Once, once there may have been a time when this was all she wanted. Children with Draco. Draco who was strong and powerful and everything she was not. Draco who did not love her but at least looked at her—at least saw her.
But now?
Now the thought of it sickens her.
And she can’t change it.
Her eyes hunt for his and hold onto the red of them.
“Please don’t make me say it.”
I guess the sound of your voice in the aching will just have to do