wear the moon like a halo

Maeve

Except she doesn't think he did ask for all of it. For everything that she's one to him. Why would he ask for this hurt? It just doesn't make sense. Maeve's fingers twist in the bag for a moment, fidgeting nervously because she has nothing else to do. Her eyes trace over his tattoos and her lips press together into a thin line. She wants to believe him. That Safrin or any of the others would love her. Maybe she should try. She's worth it, right? She's worthy of their love, isn't she? Even if she hasn't wanted it until now. They must still love her. She hasn't done anything wrong, has she? Her thoughts knot together and bog her down, making it hard to focus on him. On the things he's telling her.

Maeve doesn't have a response to his declaration and she lets it go. Instead focusing on the way he's looking at her. Like he's sorry she thinks that way about him. His hands gently pry the sandbag away from her and she's left with nothing to do but place her hands into her lap. Maeve doesn't dare touch him. That brazenness from the night they first met nowhere to be found today. "But I could... If you told me. If- If you wanted to." She's not sure he does, but she presses on anyway, "But you're trying. That means something. People who chose to hate you are going to hate you no matter what you do, but you're trying to be good." She drops her eyes, chewing on her bottom lip, "I just think you should give yourself more credit. Guess it doesn't really matter what I think, though. Like you said... We don't even know each other."

These violent delights
Have violent ends