Weaver
So precious is this life, this gift,
this temporary blindness.
this temporary blindness.
”Not unless you want half chewed food in your face,” she says, poking him in the chest lightly. ”You have been warned.” She stuffs another bite of scone into her mouth with a grin, as if in challenge, and begins to chew it. ”So long as you don’t overshadow my perfectly crafted reputation, I will let you steal from my limelight.” It’s a joke in the way his statement was a joke; mostly.
She can hear the lack of humor in his next joke though, and it’s followed quickly by the truth his humor did not hide so well. ”Why disclose that to me? It seems like something Sam perhaps ought to know though, if you are going to be disturbing him.” Her tone is light, and slightly teasing, though there’s something soft and serious in her eyes. ”Time may help.” Though she offers a slight shrug as she says it, uncertain if it will. Perhaps though. Perhaps time and the right roof over his head, the right person beside him.
She leans back, propping herself up with her non-scone hand, those amber eyes studying his, and the pain still there. She’d take it away, if she could. ”No, not particularly. Run my bar, not get killed, survive my brother’s teenage crisis,” she says with a playful grin, even if all that is true. One leg, and then the other, swings beneath her, boots bouncing lightly against the counter. ”Do what I can to help Halo. Maybe a family, someday, though I am not sure I trust this world enough to raise children in it.” And there’s something in her voice that betrays the fear of the idea. The fear that her kids would end up as she and Korbin had.
She can hear the lack of humor in his next joke though, and it’s followed quickly by the truth his humor did not hide so well. ”Why disclose that to me? It seems like something Sam perhaps ought to know though, if you are going to be disturbing him.” Her tone is light, and slightly teasing, though there’s something soft and serious in her eyes. ”Time may help.” Though she offers a slight shrug as she says it, uncertain if it will. Perhaps though. Perhaps time and the right roof over his head, the right person beside him.
She leans back, propping herself up with her non-scone hand, those amber eyes studying his, and the pain still there. She’d take it away, if she could. ”No, not particularly. Run my bar, not get killed, survive my brother’s teenage crisis,” she says with a playful grin, even if all that is true. One leg, and then the other, swings beneath her, boots bouncing lightly against the counter. ”Do what I can to help Halo. Maybe a family, someday, though I am not sure I trust this world enough to raise children in it.” And there’s something in her voice that betrays the fear of the idea. The fear that her kids would end up as she and Korbin had.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark,
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
