[open] how reflections change, any

[amathea]

( MY DAYDREAMS LOVE THE VIOLENT COLOR OF YOUR LIPS
AND THE NIGHTMARES THAT ACCOMPANY IT )

They are fragile, her father had warned her about this. But he had kissed her head and she had tried not to grimace at the sound it made (such a harsh sound for such a sweet thing, glass against porcelain) and told her that he had not wanted her to spend her youth afraid like he had. She could talk herself breathless recounting the stories he had told her about the nights he had laid awake waiting for his sister to return to him, smelling like faraway places because she was made of flesh and blood and bone. Because she was not breakable. Because she was not afraid. 

They are delicate things, yes, but they are not meant to be afraid.

She swallows and blinks and averts her gaze to the current pulling softly at her ankles. This is why they love the water, because it is kind to them. Should she tell him this? Or has he not noticed that she, too, is breakable? “He’s very careful,” she tells him instead, trying for a smile. It is something much shyer than she means for it to be. 

When she finds his face in the dark again she finds that he, too, has averted his gaze. It does not occur to her that he has looked away to afford her some privacy, to save her the shame of having revealed her embarrassment so easily. (Certainly if she knew, it would have swayed her to some kind of new tenderness. What a tremendous kindness!)

He repeats her name and it’s the first time she’s heard it out of the mouth of anyone not directly related to her. This, too, is a new thrill. Something deeply electric, shocking in its novelty. And when she smiles this time it more closely resembles his. (Though the smile is rather quickly chased away by the thought of monsters that inhabit the waters. How troubling it is to think that she might be betrayed by the only thing in Pangea she knows how to trust.)

She draws in a shuddering breath and glances down at the water again. “I don’t think there are any monsters in the river,” she muses, though the thought trails off into uncertainty and she is distracted by another thought before she can come back to it. She looks up at him abruptly, a soft frown darkening her brow. “You’ve fought them before?”   

amathea

@[Volos] no worries! moving is the WORST!

@[The Monsters] this tag has absolutely been here the whole time idk what you're talking about -- please mess with her infrared vision!!