jamie
04-08-2021, 12:20 PM
jamie
I CAN’T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
Her uncertainty breeds uncertainty in him and he shifts his weight, his muscles still all full of tremors. How dreadful it is to be reduced again to the boy he had been some years ago, crippled by anxiety, but there is no better reason to be insecure, he thinks. No better reason than three perfect girls all lined up in a row, a masterful combination of their parents. Life, Death, Love.
He cannot hear the things that teem beneath her surface. He cannot feel them. Too immature in his magic or perhaps too preoccupied by the girls, it is difficult to tell. All he knows is that she hesitates and it is this that he feels thrumming in his veins. A taut line drawn between them and he trembles with this, too. The things that she does not say.
The silence pulled thin. The way the lightest of the daughters coos so gently to the shadow pup curled against her side. He feels a sharp twinge of worry that she will be too soft but tries to stifle it by shifting his attention back to Beyza as she speaks again.
Though she does not look directly at him when she asks.
As if she is afraid to ask it.
Is there reason for her to fear the answer?
He tilts that peculiar head.
“No,” he answers, quite plainly. “Of course not, you are their mother.”
He almost reaches out to touch her, to remind her that they are friends, to remind her where they came from. But refrains, though he doesn’t know why.
“What will you name them?”
He cannot hear the things that teem beneath her surface. He cannot feel them. Too immature in his magic or perhaps too preoccupied by the girls, it is difficult to tell. All he knows is that she hesitates and it is this that he feels thrumming in his veins. A taut line drawn between them and he trembles with this, too. The things that she does not say.
The silence pulled thin. The way the lightest of the daughters coos so gently to the shadow pup curled against her side. He feels a sharp twinge of worry that she will be too soft but tries to stifle it by shifting his attention back to Beyza as she speaks again.
Though she does not look directly at him when she asks.
As if she is afraid to ask it.
Is there reason for her to fear the answer?
He tilts that peculiar head.
“No,” he answers, quite plainly. “Of course not, you are their mother.”
He almost reaches out to touch her, to remind her that they are friends, to remind her where they came from. But refrains, though he doesn’t know why.
“What will you name them?”
AND IT LEAVES ME COLD
@[Beyza]