Weaver
So precious is this life, this gift,
this temporary blindness.
this temporary blindness.
”We keep talking about it,” she says with a groan, as if talk is cheap and worthless (in this context, it was). ”I do enjoy giving people a run for their money for getting my ass kicked.” There’s still no doubt as to who would win that battle, but she did intend to at least make it a little hard for him.
Weaver laughs, clearly amused. ”Yes. I expect you to drop everything for me. No additional qualifier.” Her grin is Cheshire, her amber eyes glittering, though it’s clearly a joke. Weaver has no such expectations, and honestly, would she even want it? Headstrong and independent didn’t usually make for a girl who wanted a whole lot of catering to her every whim. A little bit though? Well, it wasn’t terrible to be pampered and spoiled sometimes, now was it?
She hums her approval at the mention of loopholes. ”Might be one of the things I like about you,” she says, her voice a bit smoky at that, her smile turning Mona Lisa. After all, she couldn’t handle someone too straight laced, someone who didn’t believe in pushing at the boundaries of every rule. Or really, they probably couldn’t handle her in that case.
Soon enough, they make it to his room. It is spartan, borderline empty, not entirely unlike Maea’s room had been but worse. ”Gods, I dread to think what you’ll make of my room, if you live like this.” The sparse nature of his room doesn’t shock her though, because in some ways, it’s exactly what she expected. Without luxury or pretense. Her room too looks like what you might expect, vaguely like a tornado hit it (except not quite that bad), but Weaver is a tornado. ”At least you have a fire,” she says, taking a few steps forward to the bed and tugging him down with her.
Weaver laughs, clearly amused. ”Yes. I expect you to drop everything for me. No additional qualifier.” Her grin is Cheshire, her amber eyes glittering, though it’s clearly a joke. Weaver has no such expectations, and honestly, would she even want it? Headstrong and independent didn’t usually make for a girl who wanted a whole lot of catering to her every whim. A little bit though? Well, it wasn’t terrible to be pampered and spoiled sometimes, now was it?
She hums her approval at the mention of loopholes. ”Might be one of the things I like about you,” she says, her voice a bit smoky at that, her smile turning Mona Lisa. After all, she couldn’t handle someone too straight laced, someone who didn’t believe in pushing at the boundaries of every rule. Or really, they probably couldn’t handle her in that case.
Soon enough, they make it to his room. It is spartan, borderline empty, not entirely unlike Maea’s room had been but worse. ”Gods, I dread to think what you’ll make of my room, if you live like this.” The sparse nature of his room doesn’t shock her though, because in some ways, it’s exactly what she expected. Without luxury or pretense. Her room too looks like what you might expect, vaguely like a tornado hit it (except not quite that bad), but Weaver is a tornado. ”At least you have a fire,” she says, taking a few steps forward to the bed and tugging him down with her.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark,
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
