Rapture
somewhere between the sand and the stardust
That small, insignificant patch of earth and leaf litter has become so fascinating in her desire to avoid her father’s heavy gaze that she fails to notice the way that Levi shifts his gaze to her. The regret and confusion warring upon his features, an expression she might have too easily been tempted to wipe away with a single touch. But her gaze, purposely avoiding him, her father, remains fixed upon that one small point. Quiet and soft and shy she might be, but she has inherited something from her parents. That particular brand of stubbornness that refuses to give in to intimidation.
But then, to her surprise, Wyrm does not press further, instead allowing her her secrets, giving in more easily than she thought possible. Surprise lights her small, delicate features as her head draws sharply upwards, pale blue gaze jumping abruptly to him. A faint frown tugs at her lips as she considers him apprehensively. Mention of her brother, of his privacy and secrecy, serves only to deepen the frown. She has not seen him in person since their father had whisked him away, had taken him to teach and train for a mission he would tell no one of. Rapture would be lying if she said she had not stolen glances. What she had seen had alarmed her though, and there is yet a small piece of her that wishes to remain in ignorance. A small piece that had led to her avoidance of him, for it is inevitable that the truth would come out when next she and her twin met.
Before she can formulate any response, give any reassurances, her father is gone, body melting into that of a raven before he takes to the skies. As she watches him go, she releases a breath she had not known she was holding, her slender body trembling slightly from restrained tension. For a long moment, she does not look at Levi, unsure if she wishes to see how this encounter had affected him. Finally, she allows herself a glance, a quick peek filled with uncertainty.
He is still there, looking at her as though she were the only creature in existence. She quickly looks away again before drawing a deep breath. She sways, drawing slightly closer, as though the pull between them is a magnetic pulse she is helpless to resist, before stilling once more. “I’m sorry,” she breathes haltingly. “I didn’t… I…” The words stick in her throat, her inability to articulate just what she is feeling drawing her lips closed once more, rendering anything she might have said non-existent.
there is a pulse that echoes of you and I
