It's a feeling we always chase

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

The difference was that Maea still had hope. That this might not be the kind of fall that broke her. That the pain was temporary, that he would find his answers, that somehow, someday, they would go back to being what they had been, before they stepped into this room. Before they told too many truths and shattered the illusions of happy-ever-after. And maybe they would never quite come back to that place, but she wondered if they couldn't get very close to the flavor of those days... if they tried. And perhaps that hope made it better, or maybe it made everything worse, she didn't know.

All she had to go on was the swoop in her stomach when he took her hand and held it, and the charged atmosphere as he turned towards her, reaching out a hand to brush the hair from her face. A gesture she knew so well... and still felt so very new.

She shifted too. Turned herself onto her side, to face him. Her eyelids fluttered close at the touch, at the light shivers it sent down her spine. Her lashes pale against pale cheeks. White on white.

"Before I met you, everything was gray," she whispered, a little hoarsely. "And now, when you're not around... it goes back to being gray. I just... I just want to see the world in color again. For a little while longer."

Her fingers closed tighter around his, the other hand reaching out from under the blanket to touch his arm, trace the line of inked feathers up towards his shoulder. Inexplicably drawn, unable to resist the temptation of him any longer.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh