He feels of life, she thinks, and she cannot figure out if she finds such a thing intriguing or repulsive. Cannot figure out whether she wishes that he would rot into the deadened autumn leaves beneath them or if she would allow herself to be swept up into the tide of his boisterous laugh. It doesn’t matter though. So little matters in this moment where she dances within reach of the flames of his gift without knowing.
Her first lesson.
Let the singed palms be a reminder.
She does not think to defend herself as she maintains eye contact, has no reason to think that she would need to protect herself at all. Least of all against this boy with the wide smile and scraped knees.
The hum in her veins continues as she reaches forward with it, sinking into his ocean eyes.
“I do,” she says with a sweet simper, as though she was asking for directions or for him to accompany her home. Something kind and gentle and not the spilling of himself on the river floor. She doesn’t flinch though, her pretty face open, the youth clear in the pale almond eyes that look up at him.
There is a pause, an electrifying moment, as she feels herself stretch further.
She doesn’t push it though. Instead, she rests in the tension and lets it build. Forces herself to learn the delicate art of patience in the moments in between, letting the natural rhythms of disaster find them.
but in all chaos, there is calculation