ISKRA
I always feel alone, inside my mind
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
Her answer is as substantial as cotton candy. Immediate suspicion narrows his gaze to her, trying to lift off the unsaid things from all the wrinkles of her coats as she sets back to carving away with wild abandon. He'd feel it a mistake to grant her free reign of any hobby that involves knives, except those were her knives, so she could find a way to make anything her hobby in that manner. The grin tugging at his mouth ruins any chance of genuine concern about the sight. "We don't have to stay here for 500 passes," he offers with the most mild shrug.
He leans slightly to try and inspect the increasingly abstract shape she's carving into existence, one mittened hand braced against the side of the ice column beside her. The thing has antlers still, technically, though one appears significantly more optimistic than the other. "Mm. I can kind of see it now actually," he admits, laughter still roughening the edges of the words. "Looks like a luxere that lost a fight." Another careful chip of ice scatters at her feet, and his gaze flicks briefly from the sculpture to her instead. The restless energy humming through her hasn't escaped him; he can feel it in the way she moves, quick and bright and already halfway to the next thought before this one finishes forming.
"Fuck it," he declares suddenly, sending up a sudden rush of heat towards the punching bag of ice. "Let's go do other things." All of the things, really, were an option with her at his side.
He leans slightly to try and inspect the increasingly abstract shape she's carving into existence, one mittened hand braced against the side of the ice column beside her. The thing has antlers still, technically, though one appears significantly more optimistic than the other. "Mm. I can kind of see it now actually," he admits, laughter still roughening the edges of the words. "Looks like a luxere that lost a fight." Another careful chip of ice scatters at her feet, and his gaze flicks briefly from the sculpture to her instead. The restless energy humming through her hasn't escaped him; he can feel it in the way she moves, quick and bright and already halfway to the next thought before this one finishes forming.
"Fuck it," he declares suddenly, sending up a sudden rush of heat towards the punching bag of ice. "Let's go do other things." All of the things, really, were an option with her at his side.
I've been trying to find something
that can set my soul free
that can set my soul free
