Had she spent more time around others, perhaps she would know. Perhaps she would be able to feel the way that she sends her emotions to him so directly, such a clean gut punch to the ice angel who had been so ill-fortuned to find her not once, but twice. But she doesn’t know. Has been by herself for so long that having her emotions spill around her feels natural—there’s just never been a recipient on the other side.
So she cannot tell that her mind is an open book through these messy emotions.
And she cannot possibly hope to shut it down.
She just walks alongside him, feeling emotions of spring and budding excitement, doing her best to focus on acting normal and not stealing glances to his stern, handsome profile. It is enough to drown out the sorrow that would otherwise consume her—that had consume her for so long after their last meeting.
She smiles to herself as they walk, forcing herself to look forward and on the path before them.
“I appreciate that,” she says, because she’s not certain she has the words for it—not sure how she can explain what she doesn’t even fully understand. “But I would like to talk,” this is quieter, less assured, and a frown ripples across her face at the self-consciousness that settles into her bones. The unease that perhaps he doesn’t want to talk to her. That she is uninteresting company. Unfit to carry a conversation.
She clears her throat, sniffing lightly. “Tell me something about yourself,” she asks, not realizing how close it sounds to a demand before she softens her tone. “Please.” A thread of desperation.
“I want to know more about you.”
@Selaphiel