10-25-2022, 12:19 AM
Raea
She stands incredibly still as he seems to appraise her, and while she cannot be sure what he searches for, her mind does not hesitate to fill in the blanks. She is sure that he can see that her very creation is reprehensible—a mingling of blood that never should have touched each other, a shameful thing in the eyes of both kingdoms. Even once she pieces together that he is blind it is only a fleeting moment of reassurance (and immediately she is disgusted with herself for even thinking that — for being glad that he could not see her), because the tension that pulls the muscles of his body taut do not go unnoticed by her.
He has found it, the wrongness of her. It goes beyond her appearance, must be something that he can feel in her pulse and smell on her skin, maybe even hear in the very sound of breath hitching in her chest.
He knows.
Without even seeing her, without even hardly knowing her he has already seen her for what she is, and it is all she can do to not crumble beneath the weight of that.
She resists the urge to slip away, because even though there is an evident frostiness to his look she still possesses a certain stubbornness, an unwillingness to flee. He has already made up his mind about her, she thinks, but still she cannot willingly submit to the idea of being seen as weak.
“I…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” It sounds meeker than she had meant it to be, a soft waver to her voice, and she pauses. A breath in, and a breath out, and the tremble disappears. “My parents, they’ve told me stories.” There is the sound of the waves rolling against the shore, the soft hush of a breeze that stirs at the feathers along her neck, but otherwise it is silent. Aching to fill it, she adds, “They raised me away from everyone and everything else. I just wanted to see it for myself.”
He has found it, the wrongness of her. It goes beyond her appearance, must be something that he can feel in her pulse and smell on her skin, maybe even hear in the very sound of breath hitching in her chest.
He knows.
Without even seeing her, without even hardly knowing her he has already seen her for what she is, and it is all she can do to not crumble beneath the weight of that.
She resists the urge to slip away, because even though there is an evident frostiness to his look she still possesses a certain stubbornness, an unwillingness to flee. He has already made up his mind about her, she thinks, but still she cannot willingly submit to the idea of being seen as weak.
“I…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” It sounds meeker than she had meant it to be, a soft waver to her voice, and she pauses. A breath in, and a breath out, and the tremble disappears. “My parents, they’ve told me stories.” There is the sound of the waves rolling against the shore, the soft hush of a breeze that stirs at the feathers along her neck, but otherwise it is silent. Aching to fill it, she adds, “They raised me away from everyone and everything else. I just wanted to see it for myself.”
@nyktos