Theea
cause every night i lie in bed
the brightest colors fill my head
the brightest colors fill my head
The festival changes—hush rolling over the field like a cloud crossing the sun—and then I see Edrei. She’d been at Remi and Ronin’s party; I smile, because she’s clearly loved and known by many. I’ve only heard her name here and there in her mom’s stories. The Launceleyns were a powerful presence in her world, but Edrei always broke the mould.
And then Damien laughs. He laughs, and my grin turns radiant in answer; I can’t help laughing with him, my straight face breaking like a giggling creek splashing over stone, bright and quick.
“Figures?” I laugh as it fades. “What’s that supposed to mean? It was a mean chicken!”
His eyes catch mine again, and the lantern-glow skims his mouth, catching on the curve of it. I bite my lip to temper my smile and take a generous drink of warm cider. My gaze flicks to his lips when they lift like that; something in my gut does a backflip, and I take another sip before the cup even leaves my mouth to settle it.
I lower my drink, and it’s easy to frown when he says I didn’t win. He conceded. That’s a win, dammit. Sure, he got me on my back—outright pinned me—but that doesn’t count; I got out of it.
“Next round, you’ll see. I’m better trained than you think.” My chin tips up, mock-haughty, sunlight-bright with challenge.
Then… an axe. I smile and nod—should’ve expected as much. He leans back against the table, and his shoulder brushes mine. I don’t shy away; I maybe drift a little closer, not enough to spook him. I like contact with him. It pulls me back to the cave after all the fear—the warmth there, a kind of tender heat I’ve never had before, like holding my hands out to a steady fire.
He meets my eyes with an almost-smirk, and my smirk goes crooked right back. “Definitely. I’ve never been up against an axe before, but… nothing to it, right?”
I bump his shoulder just a little, then take another drink. When I realize I can’t feel the burn anymore, I figure I should slow down. The lanterns blur into a soft haze; the whole festival feels lit from within, like dusk holding its breath.
“Damien,” I say softly, smiling a little. “What’s your favorite color? Or… favorite time of day. Or night? Least favorite food?”
I finally look at him fully, letting the warmth in my eyes hold—bright, patient, sun-sure. I wonder if anyone has asked him those things before. It feels like he lives, talks, even breathes as if a gust might blow the curtain back and show too much. I’m drawing it aside, gently. I’ve seen what’s on the other side, and I want more of it.
And then Damien laughs. He laughs, and my grin turns radiant in answer; I can’t help laughing with him, my straight face breaking like a giggling creek splashing over stone, bright and quick.
“Figures?” I laugh as it fades. “What’s that supposed to mean? It was a mean chicken!”
His eyes catch mine again, and the lantern-glow skims his mouth, catching on the curve of it. I bite my lip to temper my smile and take a generous drink of warm cider. My gaze flicks to his lips when they lift like that; something in my gut does a backflip, and I take another sip before the cup even leaves my mouth to settle it.
I lower my drink, and it’s easy to frown when he says I didn’t win. He conceded. That’s a win, dammit. Sure, he got me on my back—outright pinned me—but that doesn’t count; I got out of it.
“Next round, you’ll see. I’m better trained than you think.” My chin tips up, mock-haughty, sunlight-bright with challenge.
Then… an axe. I smile and nod—should’ve expected as much. He leans back against the table, and his shoulder brushes mine. I don’t shy away; I maybe drift a little closer, not enough to spook him. I like contact with him. It pulls me back to the cave after all the fear—the warmth there, a kind of tender heat I’ve never had before, like holding my hands out to a steady fire.
He meets my eyes with an almost-smirk, and my smirk goes crooked right back. “Definitely. I’ve never been up against an axe before, but… nothing to it, right?”
I bump his shoulder just a little, then take another drink. When I realize I can’t feel the burn anymore, I figure I should slow down. The lanterns blur into a soft haze; the whole festival feels lit from within, like dusk holding its breath.
“Damien,” I say softly, smiling a little. “What’s your favorite color? Or… favorite time of day. Or night? Least favorite food?”
I finally look at him fully, letting the warmth in my eyes hold—bright, patient, sun-sure. I wonder if anyone has asked him those things before. It feels like he lives, talks, even breathes as if a gust might blow the curtain back and show too much. I’m drawing it aside, gently. I’ve seen what’s on the other side, and I want more of it.
a million dreams are keeping me awake
