bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
She looks up at Jack sharply at that as genuine surprise flashes across her siren's features. His eyes are hidden again, but he is not a man who makes idle offers, at least not where she is concerned. The excitement that follows is unguarded, bright as sun on open water, and she steps back just enough to capture his other hand as well, claiming both so she can examine the full spread.
His rings are bold, unapologetic, some clearly old, some clearly stolen, thick bands of silver and gold, dark stones set deep, edges worn smooth by use. The mageglass pieces gleam differently, strange and iridescent, humming faintly with purpose. She ignores the two he’s warned her from with a small nod of understanding, her fingers moving carefully over the rest. The Ark traces each one in turn, pads of her fingers slow and deliberate, committing weight and shape and texture to memory. The metal is cool at first, then warms beneath her touch. She pauses when she reaches his pinky—this one not mageglass, but a heavy silver band worked in curling whorls like waves, each crest punctuated with small turquoise stones—it catches the light when she turns his hand slightly, the colour bright against his skin.
"This one," she says softly. Her ocean-bright eyes lift to his face, though she can’t see his gaze behind the lenses, standing close to him now, hands still holding his, bodies nearly aligned on the narrow boards of the pier. She smiles then, slow and coy. "Or is this also not the first jewellery you want to give me?"
His rings are bold, unapologetic, some clearly old, some clearly stolen, thick bands of silver and gold, dark stones set deep, edges worn smooth by use. The mageglass pieces gleam differently, strange and iridescent, humming faintly with purpose. She ignores the two he’s warned her from with a small nod of understanding, her fingers moving carefully over the rest. The Ark traces each one in turn, pads of her fingers slow and deliberate, committing weight and shape and texture to memory. The metal is cool at first, then warms beneath her touch. She pauses when she reaches his pinky—this one not mageglass, but a heavy silver band worked in curling whorls like waves, each crest punctuated with small turquoise stones—it catches the light when she turns his hand slightly, the colour bright against his skin.
"This one," she says softly. Her ocean-bright eyes lift to his face, though she can’t see his gaze behind the lenses, standing close to him now, hands still holding his, bodies nearly aligned on the narrow boards of the pier. She smiles then, slow and coy. "Or is this also not the first jewellery you want to give me?"
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
