HENRY
I was waiting for something extraordinary
but as the years wasted on...
but as the years wasted on...
Henry can only understand Mabel's need for vengeance on a surface level, in a sympathetic kind of way - and that, he doubts is something she even wants. She doesn't want sympathy, or apologies; she wants revenge. He wishes he could help her, yes, but it's more angled at her pain - not at her mission. If he were of a better mind, he might discourage her from going down this path. Not that she'd be liable to listen to him.
All he can do is look at her with troubled blue eyes, fighting for words... and fighting against them, too. He feels like he's trapped underwater, treading far too much to breathe, clawing for a way out of this deepening darkness. He feels so, so powerless.
So he offers his shift to her, offers to fly with her, and challenges her to take it. It's all he can give. He almost smiles at her declaration, at her icy defiance, her strength sharp enough to pierce him. He wishes he had it in him to be like her.
She takes his wrist and the feeling rushes through him like blood rushing through the cut she's carved against his flesh. He lets her take as much as she needs, and for a split second he wishes she would take it all. But it's a stupid thought, brought on by light-headedness in a moment of vulnerability. The price she pays for this proximity is his hand instinctively grasping around her wrist and a sharp inhale of breath.
When he thinks she's had enough, he gives her wrist a squeeze. "Let's go, then," it's a whisper on the wind, among the song of the bees, and once she lets go he's already shifting, seeking the release of great heights.
All he can do is look at her with troubled blue eyes, fighting for words... and fighting against them, too. He feels like he's trapped underwater, treading far too much to breathe, clawing for a way out of this deepening darkness. He feels so, so powerless.
So he offers his shift to her, offers to fly with her, and challenges her to take it. It's all he can give. He almost smiles at her declaration, at her icy defiance, her strength sharp enough to pierce him. He wishes he had it in him to be like her.
She takes his wrist and the feeling rushes through him like blood rushing through the cut she's carved against his flesh. He lets her take as much as she needs, and for a split second he wishes she would take it all. But it's a stupid thought, brought on by light-headedness in a moment of vulnerability. The price she pays for this proximity is his hand instinctively grasping around her wrist and a sharp inhale of breath.
When he thinks she's had enough, he gives her wrist a squeeze. "Let's go, then," it's a whisper on the wind, among the song of the bees, and once she lets go he's already shifting, seeking the release of great heights.
nothing ever did
unless I caused it
unless I caused it
