EVIE
like love is a bad word
His voice is far too calm as it emanates from the other side of the tree, and her stomach twists with that giddy, prey-like feeling that most forget after their childhood years of tag and hide-and-seek. The desire to run aches up her legs, but she is at a terminal disadvantage when it comes to speed. Hiding is merely a temporary solution, and even she knows it. “I was aiming for your shoulder until you turned,” she argues for her case, even though her tone is strangled with the force it takes to squash her laughter. It’s a poor defense given she’d thrown the snowball regardless, but she’s just trying to buy herself some time. Just as Deimos dumps the boughs-worth of snow onto her head, Evie’s own grasp on the earth below his feet lurches and buckles, hoping to send him to the ground in whichever direction she can. It’s difficult to hold the magic when she’s busy shrieking (though it’s hilariously muffled) at the snow that topples her to the ground and works its way into her coat, but revenge is a great focusing agent.
