06-11-2021, 11:08 AM
She comes at him like a vision.
(Is this a dream? If he could test himself for fever, he would. Perhaps he has been curled against his mother’s breast for days, just a child still, wishing so fiercely to be reunited with her that his boyish mind has created this for him. Because this cannot possibly be real, can it? She cannot be real, Stellaria.
But this is no dream.
It cannot be a dream, can it?
Because his sleep is plagued only by nightmares.
And she is so much sweeter than any dream.)
How can he bear to look at her?
He has half a mind to hide his face in shame. It is as if she has taken the darkness unto herself, wrapped herself in it, made it so devastatingly beautiful that mere mortals wither to look at it.
If her steps are strange, he does not notice. (He does not look away, he cannot. Just as her gaze is tethered to him, his is tethered to her. He could not look away from her if he tried.) He looks at her plainly in worship as she comes to him, touches him and he shudders beneath her touch, releases whatever air he’d trapped in his chest in one shuddering breath.
And finally, finally, he reaches for her, too. (How could he stop himself?) His pulse is such delicious chaos when he touches her so gingerly on the shoulder. (Strange that she is not made of marble, crafted by the gods. Strange that the stars on her skin do not burn.)
“I would tear the sun from the sky if it meant seeing you among the stars,” he tells her and how fiercely he means it! He does not draw breath while he touches her, no. He doesn’t dare, just pulls his mouth from the point of her shoulder to the gentle slope of her knee and back up again.
(Is this a dream? If he could test himself for fever, he would. Perhaps he has been curled against his mother’s breast for days, just a child still, wishing so fiercely to be reunited with her that his boyish mind has created this for him. Because this cannot possibly be real, can it? She cannot be real, Stellaria.
But this is no dream.
It cannot be a dream, can it?
Because his sleep is plagued only by nightmares.
And she is so much sweeter than any dream.)
How can he bear to look at her?
He has half a mind to hide his face in shame. It is as if she has taken the darkness unto herself, wrapped herself in it, made it so devastatingly beautiful that mere mortals wither to look at it.
If her steps are strange, he does not notice. (He does not look away, he cannot. Just as her gaze is tethered to him, his is tethered to her. He could not look away from her if he tried.) He looks at her plainly in worship as she comes to him, touches him and he shudders beneath her touch, releases whatever air he’d trapped in his chest in one shuddering breath.
And finally, finally, he reaches for her, too. (How could he stop himself?) His pulse is such delicious chaos when he touches her so gingerly on the shoulder. (Strange that she is not made of marble, crafted by the gods. Strange that the stars on her skin do not burn.)
“I would tear the sun from the sky if it meant seeing you among the stars,” he tells her and how fiercely he means it! He does not draw breath while he touches her, no. He doesn’t dare, just pulls his mouth from the point of her shoulder to the gentle slope of her knee and back up again.
oh, i loved you with the good and the careless of me
but it all goes bad
@[Stellaria]