she didn't want to love
she wanted to b e l o v e d
and that was entirely different
He follows, and follows, and follows. Amalia knows she should not be surprised, and yet she is, fascinated and tantalized by his willingness to pursue, to swim in her wake without questions asked, trust and accompany and find and retrieve. He braved the forest and its wiles for her- it is astounding, unbelievable, leaves her breathless and awed. Lost once more, Deimos had found her, brought his haven and light to her, unafraid of any demons, ever her waxing moon, her guiding star.she wanted to b e l o v e d
and that was entirely different
He asks if they hurt her, and the girl laughs, half-mirthless, uncertain of how to reply. Ultimately the simplest answer is easiest, most correct: "No." They did not hurt her - not physically, at least. Scars from trauma and fear and wrath have yet to congeal, reveal their lasting, inevitable marks. Amalia sighs, pausing a moment, letting her fingers pull through golden hair, anxious, remembering capture and rage. But there is light there, too, a beauty unexpected and entirely welcome: Jyoti reacts to her soulmate's disquiet, pressing soft touches under her hands, nuzzling warmly against the girl's cheek.
Then he calls her (which her?) incredible, and the girl laughs again, eager and earnest self-conscious and shy. "Her name is Jyoti," Amalia murmurs, dark eyes lighting up to see the affection between whale and man, the way her bonded flutters and coos beneath the behemoths touches. "She fell from the sky. Safrin said they need to bond or else they die upon the earth. I... I don't know why she chose me." Ruefully she shakes her head, still bedazzled by the turn of events. There are no words to express her emotion, the hole the cetacean has filled in her heart.
They set back off, and he follows her again, making his way between old roots, his monolithic form easing down to her haven below the earth. Jyoti sings to encourage him on, but Amalia does not; her prayers and dreams are held close to her chest, her aching desires kept subdued by merciful delight in simply being here. Smiling, beaming, glowing with joy, she waits for the man to come to her, to tell her the words she has ached to hear with his gentle touches, his easy smile. Come, her jet eyes seem to say, Catch me. Have me. Want me. I will not run.
And oh!, he does, with painful tenderness, the most ghostly of acquiescence, the smallest of gestures and briefest of words. Palms enclose around her hands, wrapping tenderly over knuckle and skin. Unthinking, she flexes, moves to push her finger among his, entwine herself closer, give more to his grasp. Her smile widens, cheeks color and bloom; happiness is written like a story on her features, easily legible in her expressive facade. She pulls herself closer, arcs toward his warmth, lets herself give in to his orbit and pushes to decrease that lingering gap.
Jyoti pushes deeper among the tomes, illuminating corridors and forcing shadows back to the dark. Pages and spines whisper in the starlight, singing their old familiar song, tempting and entrancing and calling her on. For once, however, Amalia does not follow; the quiet librarian whose friends were all books has found solace and sanctuary among flesh and bone. "I missed you," she whispers, a bashful confession, quiet laughter in her alto voice at the foolishness of such a thing. It has been mere days, no time at all- what sort of young lover is she, to feel his absence so acutely, to count the minutes between their breaths?
She does not care. Let him find her foolish: Amalia does not care, too lost in elation to do anything but love, squeezing tightly against his palms, bare feet shifting against the earth. Chin tilted up to look in his eyes, she feels her heartbeat in her throat, wanting and yearning a fiery crescendo which thunders like hoofbeats against her ears, a question and invitation lighting onyx gaze. Too large for this cavern, too small for this world, perhaps they are woefully out of place to any who would observe, but in Amalia's eyes and heart they are perfect. She would savor the memory of this moment, this place, keep it as a constant companion through lonely nights and lengthy days for months and years to come.
Amalia
we are all b r o k e n
that's how the l i g h t gets in
that's how the l i g h t gets in
