Delphine
Delphine nodded slowly. Love required sacrifice from both people, not a take-take-take situation, where nothing is given in return. That made sense. She was still hovering over him, studying his features, watching his lips as he spoke. Each word he said created a blossom of color across her vision. Swirls, and flecks, entire words came out colored.
The world was a rainbow. As he described his idea of love, her lips curved. It sounded beautiful, she wondered what it would feel like, to be loved like that. To have someone who gave just as much as her, and took as much as she could give but never took more than that.
“Where did you see love like that? It sounds… beautiful.” She whispered, lower lip trembling as she closed her eyes, slow and deliberate. The love Noah had described was what she had once daydreamed. Though Halo was much too cold for the type of picnics that she used to dream about.
At his last question, though, her eyes flew open and she stared down at him, hazel hues full of disbelief. Perhaps shock. Had she heard him right? Before she could stop herself, she asked: “Why would… why would you want me? I’ve done terrible things. And… I can’t bring back the dead anymore, I’m useless.”
‘The type of love he just described doesn’t require you to be worth anything, stupid.’ Her thoughts swirled in circles, repeating the phrase, and she shifted to sit upright, fingers tugging at messy blonde tresses.
“I’m not a Natural. What would the rest of Snowcloak think?” She’d seen so much hatred towards Outlanders, everywhere, so it was safe to assume that Halo in its relative isolation was the same, if not worse. Though nothing in her voice suggested that she wanted him to listen to her, in fact her tone and body language suggested the opposite.
She moved to claim the cup of luke-warm tea, still straddling his legs, her knees pressed into the couch cushions. “Besides, you’re drunk, Noah. And you’re sad. Do you really think you could love someone like me? Do you think you could love me sober?” She was swirling the tea around in the mug, before she moved to get off the couch, over to the fire to encourage the flames, and to hide her tears.
She was pretty sure the answer to her question was no, why wouldn’t it be, when she’d given him enough reasons to run away now, with his heart free and secure? “You shouldn’t make decisions while drunk,” she stated, her voice wavering, despite being fairly steady.
The world was a rainbow. As he described his idea of love, her lips curved. It sounded beautiful, she wondered what it would feel like, to be loved like that. To have someone who gave just as much as her, and took as much as she could give but never took more than that.
“Where did you see love like that? It sounds… beautiful.” She whispered, lower lip trembling as she closed her eyes, slow and deliberate. The love Noah had described was what she had once daydreamed. Though Halo was much too cold for the type of picnics that she used to dream about.
At his last question, though, her eyes flew open and she stared down at him, hazel hues full of disbelief. Perhaps shock. Had she heard him right? Before she could stop herself, she asked: “Why would… why would you want me? I’ve done terrible things. And… I can’t bring back the dead anymore, I’m useless.”
‘The type of love he just described doesn’t require you to be worth anything, stupid.’ Her thoughts swirled in circles, repeating the phrase, and she shifted to sit upright, fingers tugging at messy blonde tresses.
“I’m not a Natural. What would the rest of Snowcloak think?” She’d seen so much hatred towards Outlanders, everywhere, so it was safe to assume that Halo in its relative isolation was the same, if not worse. Though nothing in her voice suggested that she wanted him to listen to her, in fact her tone and body language suggested the opposite.
She moved to claim the cup of luke-warm tea, still straddling his legs, her knees pressed into the couch cushions. “Besides, you’re drunk, Noah. And you’re sad. Do you really think you could love someone like me? Do you think you could love me sober?” She was swirling the tea around in the mug, before she moved to get off the couch, over to the fire to encourage the flames, and to hide her tears.
She was pretty sure the answer to her question was no, why wouldn’t it be, when she’d given him enough reasons to run away now, with his heart free and secure? “You shouldn’t make decisions while drunk,” she stated, her voice wavering, despite being fairly steady.
How can I begin again?
How can I try to love someone new,
someone who isn’t you?
How can I try to love someone new,
someone who isn’t you?
