She's not entirely certain what makes her turn. A shiver across her spine perhaps, telling her she is no longer alone. She nearly doesn't look. Nearly doesn't, because it never seems to matter anyway. No one is coming for her.
But when it doesn't go away, she does turn. The soft blue of her gaze falls on him, as hollow as she feels inside. For a moment she only stares. He doesn't seem pleased to find her here, the glowering gaze and downward turn of his lips speaking volumes despite his quiet stillness.
"Oh," she whispers, fighting the urge to wilt beneath his stare. But she does. How one look can make her feel so terribly small and insignificant, she's not entirely sure. Were she in a clearer frame of mind though, she might realize it's not truly him.
No, it's her. She is small and insignificant. She'd been shown, over and over, just how true it is.
But the longer she watches him from beneath downcast lashes, the more more she begins to question. Beneath the soft rays of the setting sun, diffused by lingering fog, he looks surreal. The way the light seems to halo around him, refracted and ethereal, he looks almost like a dream. So much so, she breathes moments later, "Are you real?"
Make me a promise that time won't erase us
That we were not lost from the start
Rapture
