09-26-2021, 09:26 PM
It does not escape her notice that they are both older now, both grown from that adolescent awkwardness of lanky legs and short, bristling manes, of bodies too slender and faces too soft with youth. He had been beautiful then, she can remember how even in the dark he had been like a shining blue gem, sparkling with the lights of those rising embers that seemed to drift from him endlessly. But that beauty is different now, and still somehow the same - so maybe it is Aureline herself that has changed.
She notes the same bright blue eyes that sparkle with something like mischief or arrogance, something that seems to make it so easy for her to accept the sparks that rise from him since he is likely a living spark. He is even the same shade of blue from her memories - pure enough to be a gem, bright enough to put every sky and ocean and wildflower to shame for being less. But the lines of his body are longer now, filled out with age and a kind of sinuous strength that hadn’t been there before.
The difference between stallion and colt.
It means that it feels a little different now when he leans in to study her eyes, different when she wonders with a kind of quiet shyness inside her chest what it is he thinks of her molten fire. It is the difference of wanting to be seen and wanting to remain invisible just in case what he sees inside her is less than he was expecting. In case she is less.
It is why she does not ask him what he thinks after he’s spent that moment studying her.
It is why something like doubt flowers inside her chest when he makes no direct acknowledgement of whatever it is he observes of her.
“I’ve been well too.” She says with a smile because all lies are best delivered with the impression of levity. “Nothing to complain about.” She repeats, holding onto this smile that only just barely reaches the molten red-gold of her eyes. Nothing except nightmares that never let her sleep, nothing except her worst moments relived a dozen times every night. But these beasts are hers to wrestle with, not hers to share. The only sign of her careful lie comes in the delicate fracturing of the joy across her face, a moment where the dark creeps through to dampen her shine and draw shadows like living pain across the light of her irises.
In the moment that follows, she is clumsy and indelicate, fumbling with this weight inside her chest and the wish to show Laurelin nothing more than an easy smile. To let him see none of the ugly jaggedness hidden beneath the glow of her golden skin. Could she learn to be whole again if only by pretending? By practicing? So she searches for a question that touches no depths, softens a gaze made momentarily tense with doubt. “Do you live here? I don’t think I ever asked before. It would make it a lot easier to find you if I knew where to look.” And this smile, at least, is something soft and sincere in it’s quiet luminosity.
She notes the same bright blue eyes that sparkle with something like mischief or arrogance, something that seems to make it so easy for her to accept the sparks that rise from him since he is likely a living spark. He is even the same shade of blue from her memories - pure enough to be a gem, bright enough to put every sky and ocean and wildflower to shame for being less. But the lines of his body are longer now, filled out with age and a kind of sinuous strength that hadn’t been there before.
The difference between stallion and colt.
It means that it feels a little different now when he leans in to study her eyes, different when she wonders with a kind of quiet shyness inside her chest what it is he thinks of her molten fire. It is the difference of wanting to be seen and wanting to remain invisible just in case what he sees inside her is less than he was expecting. In case she is less.
It is why she does not ask him what he thinks after he’s spent that moment studying her.
It is why something like doubt flowers inside her chest when he makes no direct acknowledgement of whatever it is he observes of her.
“I’ve been well too.” She says with a smile because all lies are best delivered with the impression of levity. “Nothing to complain about.” She repeats, holding onto this smile that only just barely reaches the molten red-gold of her eyes. Nothing except nightmares that never let her sleep, nothing except her worst moments relived a dozen times every night. But these beasts are hers to wrestle with, not hers to share. The only sign of her careful lie comes in the delicate fracturing of the joy across her face, a moment where the dark creeps through to dampen her shine and draw shadows like living pain across the light of her irises.
In the moment that follows, she is clumsy and indelicate, fumbling with this weight inside her chest and the wish to show Laurelin nothing more than an easy smile. To let him see none of the ugly jaggedness hidden beneath the glow of her golden skin. Could she learn to be whole again if only by pretending? By practicing? So she searches for a question that touches no depths, softens a gaze made momentarily tense with doubt. “Do you live here? I don’t think I ever asked before. It would make it a lot easier to find you if I knew where to look.” And this smile, at least, is something soft and sincere in it’s quiet luminosity.
aureline
dear wilderness, be at your best
her armor is thin as the fabric of her dress
@Laurelin