tell me Atlas what is heavier?
the world or its peoples hearts?
the world or its peoples hearts?
The flesh is warped and wrinkled beneath his fingertips, and when she does not move to push him away or withdraw, his other hand comes to gently cup the back of her hand to allow his fingertips to trace the whorls of her skin that had once been preternaturally smooth. “What happened?” It’s a whisper, a secret just between the two of them, and Harper aches to think she has been hurt already, so soon after her revival. Is this what being Ascended means? He can’t help but assume the worst.
As his eyes reluctantly drag upward to meet the milky iridescence of her irises, the ache only claws it’s way deeper into his bones. “Then they didn’t deserve to know you as you were, to have your love then or now.” Despite the muted tone there’s a ferocity to the words, flinty steel flashing in cobalt eyes. Changed she may be into something Harper struggles to accept, he would never greet her with anything less than relief. Even now he is grateful for the opportunity to speak to her, a chance he’d lost when she died. Goodbyes seem wrong now, but at least he has the chance.
Harper reluctantly lets her hand fall away from between his own, which rest limp and uncertain at his sides. “So then you wish not to be Ascended?” The words are spoken slowly, like cooled molasses, uncertain as he tries to parse her words. “Maybe if they knew, they would try to help you?” As a spy if nothing else. Harper has little hope that she could be otherwise changed back, or it surely would have been achieved by now. The tepid water on his cheeks feels like tears, but he is too hollow to cry.
As his eyes reluctantly drag upward to meet the milky iridescence of her irises, the ache only claws it’s way deeper into his bones. “Then they didn’t deserve to know you as you were, to have your love then or now.” Despite the muted tone there’s a ferocity to the words, flinty steel flashing in cobalt eyes. Changed she may be into something Harper struggles to accept, he would never greet her with anything less than relief. Even now he is grateful for the opportunity to speak to her, a chance he’d lost when she died. Goodbyes seem wrong now, but at least he has the chance.
Harper reluctantly lets her hand fall away from between his own, which rest limp and uncertain at his sides. “So then you wish not to be Ascended?” The words are spoken slowly, like cooled molasses, uncertain as he tries to parse her words. “Maybe if they knew, they would try to help you?” As a spy if nothing else. Harper has little hope that she could be otherwise changed back, or it surely would have been achieved by now. The tepid water on his cheeks feels like tears, but he is too hollow to cry.
Harper
