isn't it lovely all alone, heart made of glass, my mind of stone
He looks at her as if he knows her, but that dormant flame in her chest does not reignite.
She has learned that some of them are transfixed by the idea of her having once been a star, though she supposes she cannot fault them for this; the stars were beautiful, more so than they could ever begin to comprehend. For years this reverence had only further stoked her desire to return to the sky, because telling them she used to be untouchable and incredible while trapped in this body felt like a lie.
She assumes, then, that this is why he stares at her the way that he does. That he recognizes her starlit glow, the celestial kind of energy that she cannot control radiating from her.
But she still is not prepared for the way his emotions flood into her.
The adoration is warm and comforting, yet it feels alien and strange flooding into something so previously hollow—like sunshine melting ice. She nearly recoils from it, having forgotten all of their previous encounters, but once it has a chance to settle she finds herself exhaling a sigh of something like relief.
“You don’t sound okay,” she tells him honestly, and she stares again at the way his chest pulses and glows. The distance between them closes, and for a moment it appears as though she is going to touch the glowing skin, before she seems to remember herself and she stops short. “Your chest. Does it always glow like that?”
@Tiercel