09-10-2021, 05:14 PM
kensley
i swore the days were over of courting empty dreams
It chases a laugh out of him, a sound that catches him by surprise, and the force of the breath disturbs the grass underfoot. But it is warm, tinged by grief as it is, and he shakes his head.
“I don’t know about that,” he counters, the furthest corners of his mouth tied up in a sideways kind of smile. Because Kensley had never believed himself destined for much of anything at all, really. Until tragedy had struck and he had understood beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was not meant to live a life dictated by any kind of happiness.
(And yet.
And yet, Anaxarete had frozen his heart because it was the only way she knew how to help him. She had done it because she loved him. Because she herself had ice where her heart ought to be.
And Aela had thawed him without his asking, simply by existing, simply by touching, simply by communicating.
And surely that meant something, though he has not made any real effort to try to puzzle out the meaning. Perhaps it means that there is happiness left for him someplace or perhaps it simply means that he cannot escape the grief that has burdened him for as long as he can remember.)
He glances down at the fog that curls away from his chest and drags in a shuddering breath.
He was never meant to be a powerful thing, Kensley. This is where they differ. She sees in him something he has never seen in himself, never will see in himself, and he shakes his head again but does not speak.
The silence yawns between them for one charged moment before he lifts his gaze back to her and tilts his head, smiling still. “Where did you find your voice?” he asks and there is an undeniable edge of pride in his tone when he asks it.
“I don’t know about that,” he counters, the furthest corners of his mouth tied up in a sideways kind of smile. Because Kensley had never believed himself destined for much of anything at all, really. Until tragedy had struck and he had understood beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was not meant to live a life dictated by any kind of happiness.
(And yet.
And yet, Anaxarete had frozen his heart because it was the only way she knew how to help him. She had done it because she loved him. Because she herself had ice where her heart ought to be.
And Aela had thawed him without his asking, simply by existing, simply by touching, simply by communicating.
And surely that meant something, though he has not made any real effort to try to puzzle out the meaning. Perhaps it means that there is happiness left for him someplace or perhaps it simply means that he cannot escape the grief that has burdened him for as long as he can remember.)
He glances down at the fog that curls away from his chest and drags in a shuddering breath.
He was never meant to be a powerful thing, Kensley. This is where they differ. She sees in him something he has never seen in himself, never will see in himself, and he shakes his head again but does not speak.
The silence yawns between them for one charged moment before he lifts his gaze back to her and tilts his head, smiling still. “Where did you find your voice?” he asks and there is an undeniable edge of pride in his tone when he asks it.
i worshipped at the altar of losing everything