REXANNA
He tells her he’s fine, but she’s not convinced in the slightest. Still, she keeps her own distance, watching as he turns back to her and wraps his arms around his legs tight, while she pulls her own underneath her, crossed and in the snow. She lets him take as long as he needs, fully expecting to not get a full answer (she wouldn’t blame him) but she nods when he says it wasn’t why. At least she has that going for her.
She folds her arms into her lap, eyes never leave him for fear something else may happen, when the snow begins to drift down over them again. As he begins the story, she looks at him with a small amount of sadness pooling into her gut. She knew nothing of the Launceleyns aside from the marriage arrangements and abandoned status. She didn’t know how bad it was. And while he begins to explain, she reaches for the parasol she had brought, opening it up and sliding over to sit beside him while still leaving space, holding it up between them to keep the snow from collecting and melting on him.
It doesn’t melt on her own person, so she’s less than caring about the piles of snow that begin to accumulate on her lap.
She nods when he mentions a magical oath, one she had thought she had taken with Zariah too, only nothing had come of it. It seemed he wasn’t so lucky. She bites her tongue to refrain from interrupting, listening as the coldness in her gut begins to expand, and she finally looks away when the words hit. Torture. Only a cowards way of getting what they wanted. And she, too, knew first hand what it was like. She can’t help but to grit her teeth against the use of it all, and how much more she wanted to take Zariah down. How much more she wanted to protect Peter from it all.
Her gaze finally slides over to him as he tells her he’s sorry, and she shakes her head to him, sending snowflakes scattering across her chest and lap. “Don’t be sorry.” She tells him equally soft. If anything, she should be the one that’s sorry for bringing back those memories. But she stifles the admission, instead wondering if he wanted to be touched, held, to have hands that soothed rather than destroyed. She could do that, she could protect all of her friends. And she would — a force to be reckoned with.
Her head tilts as she looks over to him. “What can I do to help?”
She folds her arms into her lap, eyes never leave him for fear something else may happen, when the snow begins to drift down over them again. As he begins the story, she looks at him with a small amount of sadness pooling into her gut. She knew nothing of the Launceleyns aside from the marriage arrangements and abandoned status. She didn’t know how bad it was. And while he begins to explain, she reaches for the parasol she had brought, opening it up and sliding over to sit beside him while still leaving space, holding it up between them to keep the snow from collecting and melting on him.
It doesn’t melt on her own person, so she’s less than caring about the piles of snow that begin to accumulate on her lap.
She nods when he mentions a magical oath, one she had thought she had taken with Zariah too, only nothing had come of it. It seemed he wasn’t so lucky. She bites her tongue to refrain from interrupting, listening as the coldness in her gut begins to expand, and she finally looks away when the words hit. Torture. Only a cowards way of getting what they wanted. And she, too, knew first hand what it was like. She can’t help but to grit her teeth against the use of it all, and how much more she wanted to take Zariah down. How much more she wanted to protect Peter from it all.
Her gaze finally slides over to him as he tells her he’s sorry, and she shakes her head to him, sending snowflakes scattering across her chest and lap. “Don’t be sorry.” She tells him equally soft. If anything, she should be the one that’s sorry for bringing back those memories. But she stifles the admission, instead wondering if he wanted to be touched, held, to have hands that soothed rather than destroyed. She could do that, she could protect all of her friends. And she would — a force to be reckoned with.
Her head tilts as she looks over to him. “What can I do to help?”
until the lambs
have become
lions
