[ Within the span of a conversation, not only had he been able to read her and determine that she, too, had been affected by the cruel visions imparted onto others, calling her bluff— if not for their content then the guilt of being the one responsible for them— but he's also comforted her, reassured her. All this, while he’s clearly still in a great deal of hurt himself.
As if following instinct, her hand lifts to his cheek, fingers dusting softly alongside his face. Not too long ago, she had seen his decade-aged visage instead, pale and worn... But his smile had been the same.
Within the span of a single conversation, he’s gotten her to feel safe enough to divulge a portion of her past. That safeness is only a portion of what he’s given her here, in this world, hasn’t he? Safe, comfortable, and...
Her fingers curl inward against his skin, gently raking a lock of his dark hair past his ear. There’s a slight, cautious tremble to her touch, aware and in awe of how fleeting this moment is, that it will end, that they must part.
Within the span of a conversation, he's enchanted her with his kindness, his courage, his strength, his smile. How can she not look upon him with that bittersweet fondness from before? She doesn’t part. Not now. This smile, which he says is owed in part to what she brings him, is something she only wishes to be close to. Something she wishes to celebrate, commemorate, and cherish. If only she could with a kiss.
Pyra closes her eyes. There’s that feeling again, that fluttering warmth, that want to stay close, to lean in and give in. It's almost unbearable, too much, it's a monster, a conqueror, something she's been defeated by and has no hope of overcoming herself-- but it's so good, wonderful, and light and inspiring. Uplifting as well, because she wants to take this feeling and hold it both up high above her and close to her breast, to declare it and keep it secret, to tell it and to show it. It's love, and it's both cruel and wonderful. Yet is this really the time?
Her head dips forward, and once more she's resting her forehead to his, drawing in a slow, steady breath, just as she had been a few minutes ago when she had first stumbled with him onto his bead. There's a tension within her shoulders, but she's smiling as if she's convincing herself of something-- to be still, perhaps, or try to be still and satisfied, only with this... ]
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As if following instinct, her hand lifts to his cheek, fingers dusting softly alongside his face. Not too long ago, she had seen his decade-aged visage instead, pale and worn... But his smile had been the same.
Within the span of a single conversation, he’s gotten her to feel safe enough to divulge a portion of her past. That safeness is only a portion of what he’s given her here, in this world, hasn’t he? Safe, comfortable, and...
Her fingers curl inward against his skin, gently raking a lock of his dark hair past his ear. There’s a slight, cautious tremble to her touch, aware and in awe of how fleeting this moment is, that it will end, that they must part.
Within the span of a conversation, he's enchanted her with his kindness, his courage, his strength, his smile. How can she not look upon him with that bittersweet fondness from before? She doesn’t part. Not now. This smile, which he says is owed in part to what she brings him, is something she only wishes to be close to. Something she wishes to celebrate, commemorate, and cherish. If only she could with a kiss.
Pyra closes her eyes. There’s that feeling again, that fluttering warmth, that want to stay close, to lean in and give in. It's almost unbearable, too much, it's a monster, a conqueror, something she's been defeated by and has no hope of overcoming herself-- but it's so good, wonderful, and light and inspiring. Uplifting as well, because she wants to take this feeling and hold it both up high above her and close to her breast, to declare it and keep it secret, to tell it and to show it. It's love, and it's both cruel and wonderful. Yet is this really the time?
Her head dips forward, and once more she's resting her forehead to his, drawing in a slow, steady breath, just as she had been a few minutes ago when she had first stumbled with him onto his bead. There's a tension within her shoulders, but she's smiling as if she's convincing herself of something-- to be still, perhaps, or try to be still and satisfied, only with this... ]