melita
Beholding him now, in all his gilded light, something swayed in her chest, made her think of eternities rather than simply the present. A different pitch in her ribcage, suddenly swaying in the arc of her soul that had always been a little defiant; and she swallowed the emotions before they made it difficult to breathe, her lip quiver, or tears threatening in the corner of her eyes. Contentment and love and happiness shouldn’t have been so bewildering, but it stunned her much the same, and giving names to it while she glanced at his face and contemplated a life that wasn’t all devastation, heartache, and survival mystified into her own tangled knot. A web she was more willing to unravel – if she gave herself, and him, an actual chance, instead of running and prolonging and avoiding. Far too used to destroying and discarding, rather than building anything, the concept entirely new, fresh, and foreign, her hands slid along his face again, dragging him closer so her mouth could encompass his in a long, slow, lingering kiss; forging something there first.
Conversations with Kaisel came to mind, and when she pulled away, she peered through the lopsided grin and the ridiculous flex of his muscles (here she couldn’t help but laugh, one hand weakly smacking against his chest), she leaned back into the stone, surveyed him from that solid, staunch counterpart. With a wry grin meant to mask any apprehension, she tilted her head, hands going towards the crown still woven through her crimson tresses, ensuring it was back in place, while they peeled away from the rock.
Ignoring the sudden protest in her frame, stiff and unyielding, she let the prospect of plans flicker around, letting it gather in jocular facets before she advanced. “I can send Sila to scout one out…,” and then on second thought, her brows furrowed, glancing around to see where the companions had gone. Both Fangorn and Sila popped their heads up from the remains of the picnic, and she snorted, before casting them along – wings unfurling and vampire gourd bobbing, granting her body several stretches and then beginning to look for her discarded and flung clothing. Snagging at her dress from a nearby fern, she tossed a glance his way. “See, I was right all along,” with a wink for good measure; Stormbreak forever giving her a feeling of old, withered faces and ancient ideals. “Though, the Celestine is really pretty.” As if the floating isle had one redeeming quality. She could imagine them taking dinner there and looking at animals and then meandering their way elsewhere; but she gave a shrug and maneuvered on, discovering her underwear right below the rock outcropping, and chucking his pants his way.
Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, as if going to war (which she’d proclaim, was much easier) instead of taking the smallest gods damned step, she shook out her clothes, trying to give attention to the cheesecake and berry stains on the ruffles instead of on whether he’d say no. “I was thinking – do you want to do like…a family dinner with my uncle or something?”
salvation doesn't look like light
