My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room
His touch is incredibly soft, barely a whisper across her skin, brushing across the tracks of tears staining her cheeks. Maeve wants to reach up and take his hand, but she can't bring herself to do it. Her arm laying limp at her side as she meets his gaze with glassy eyes.
Nothing comes from him. No familiar spark along the bond that used to be so open. There is no warmth to meet her and she tries not to let it twist like a dagger deeper in her heart, but the twinge is there all the same. She draws a shuddering breath at his words, nodding weakly, "I know, but I- I left you alone, Harper. I did the same thing as Phoebe." And she hates herself for even mentioning her. Except in this one way, Maeve is no better than her. No better than her at all.
Silence falls over them and she can see the questions swimming in his eyes, the way his lips press into a thin line, refusing to release them. Maeve swallows thickly, "Harper... Please talk to me..."
Nothing comes from him. No familiar spark along the bond that used to be so open. There is no warmth to meet her and she tries not to let it twist like a dagger deeper in her heart, but the twinge is there all the same. She draws a shuddering breath at his words, nodding weakly, "I know, but I- I left you alone, Harper. I did the same thing as Phoebe." And she hates herself for even mentioning her. Except in this one way, Maeve is no better than her. No better than her at all.
Silence falls over them and she can see the questions swimming in his eyes, the way his lips press into a thin line, refusing to release them. Maeve swallows thickly, "Harper... Please talk to me..."
Maeve
