If she notices the way he is fighting with himself internally, there is nothing that she displays outwardly to show it. She is perceptive enough, however, to pick up all the seemingly miniscule changes in his body. The way his muscles seem to pull so tight beneath the bright bay of his skin, or the way his jaw tightens and his eyes flicker as though he is trying to ward something off. She is no stranger to that look, though she doesn’t realize why it manifested in him. She can only assume that it’s the same reason she always gets it; because she is something that appears fragile and pristine, she is something that they want to take, even if it’s only once.
No one ever really wants to keep her, and she wouldn’t know what to do with herself anyway if she ever found herself not having to fight for attention.
Her lips twitch when he compliments her name, and she isn’t sure if anyone has ever told her that before. “Thank you,” she says softly, still watching him carefully. She is quiet when he speaks, even though she can feel the heat and the anger edging across every syllable. She begins to understand, she thinks, why he seems so agitated. “The magic here can be overwhelming, especially if it decides to take root inside of you,” her own tone remains placid in comparison to his, her dark eyes eerily calm as she watches him. “And if it’s my past that is bombarding you…” she laughs and shakes her head, a long curtain of startling white locks cascading along the edges of her face as she continues coyly, “Well, all I can say is I’m sorry.”
“But for what it’s worth, you don’t sound crazy. Not in comparison to most things.”
