With no one wearing their real face It's a whiteout of emotion
Dark lipstick accentuated the curve of her mouth, turning the curl at its corners into an impish smile, ever so slightly wicked. "Oh, definitely," Maea replied, as her hand settled upon his arm, while the other nestled comfortably in his. Any rust on Liam’s dancing skills was compensated by her agile feet that followed wherever he lead them, her petite silhouette as soft and supple as a shadow beneath his touch. "Dangerous means unpredictable, right? And coming from you, I can think of nothing more exciting than being surprised by whatever you do." Call it spice, or an antidote to boredom - not that she'd settled that hard into routines just yet - or just a kink of hers; the notion of getting in trouble with this sterner, darker, slightly more intense looking version of Liam sent thrills down her spine.
The masquerade was a blur around them, smudged lights and masked faces blending together with the swelling music. Even without alcohol Maea felt tension bleed away; she picked out half familiar figures from the crowd, yet remained content right where she was. Swirling, dancing, moving through the night in the arms of her partner. Had she ever been more content with life? She couldn't recall.
The masquerade was a blur around them, smudged lights and masked faces blending together with the swelling music. Even without alcohol Maea felt tension bleed away; she picked out half familiar figures from the crowd, yet remained content right where she was. Swirling, dancing, moving through the night in the arms of her partner. Had she ever been more content with life? She couldn't recall.
And I've only got my brittle bones to break the fall
Maea
