Tell the tales of the trail of dead
Lovers learned from slower hands
Lovers learned from slower hands
You have the wrong person.
It echoed in his mind, a refrain that did little to soothe the jagged edges of his heart that he'd thought had begun to heal over. Logic dictated that this couldn't be Wren. Wren was dead - long dead and gone from this world, with her mother and sister in Mort's halls.
But she had his eyes.
Some paternal instinct insisted that this was her, that something had gone wrong all those years ago when he'd thought her lost. But as she insisted on a different name, stepped closer to Zavien as though gravitating towards safety, Liam swallowed back the mounting protests and did his best to quell the quiver in his voice.
He failed.
A hand lifted as though to reach for her before he stopped himself and jerked it back. "But - you look just like -"
But the last thing he wanted to do was scare her. What if he was wrong? What if this was just some strange coincidence.
But she had his eyes.
"Excuse me," he said abruptly, turning away and nearly running into Maea, who he hadn't even realized was there until just this moment. Swallowing hard, he met her eyes, his gaze distant and tormented. But he couldn't bring himself to explain - not to say anything more in front of Wren/Jesse, where any move he made might be construed as a threat that he never wanted to be. Hopefully his partner would follow as he fled the others, slipping through the crowd and towards the other side of the bonfire, away from the truth that he hoped that he might one day uncover.
But it wouldn't be today. Not when Wren was looking at him like that.
It echoed in his mind, a refrain that did little to soothe the jagged edges of his heart that he'd thought had begun to heal over. Logic dictated that this couldn't be Wren. Wren was dead - long dead and gone from this world, with her mother and sister in Mort's halls.
But she had his eyes.
Some paternal instinct insisted that this was her, that something had gone wrong all those years ago when he'd thought her lost. But as she insisted on a different name, stepped closer to Zavien as though gravitating towards safety, Liam swallowed back the mounting protests and did his best to quell the quiver in his voice.
He failed.
A hand lifted as though to reach for her before he stopped himself and jerked it back. "But - you look just like -"
But the last thing he wanted to do was scare her. What if he was wrong? What if this was just some strange coincidence.
But she had his eyes.
"Excuse me," he said abruptly, turning away and nearly running into Maea, who he hadn't even realized was there until just this moment. Swallowing hard, he met her eyes, his gaze distant and tormented. But he couldn't bring himself to explain - not to say anything more in front of Wren/Jesse, where any move he made might be construed as a threat that he never wanted to be. Hopefully his partner would follow as he fled the others, slipping through the crowd and towards the other side of the bonfire, away from the truth that he hoped that he might one day uncover.
But it wouldn't be today. Not when Wren was looking at him like that.
Losing self in myself
And my demons make demands
And my demons make demands
Liam
Minor powerplay allowed without permission.
Feel free to use force/magic on Liam.
Feel free to use force/magic on Liam.
