Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away
His smile, however small, found an echo in hers. Dry and amused, something cold and beautiful glittering in the depths of her eyes. Like whitewashed bone, or a frozen halo around the sun. It could have been sincere.
"Privy to? Nah. Not that. But if you wanted to... I'm saying that you can." She shrugged. He had managed to listen to her without judging. It was a small thing, to offer the same in return. "What did you come here to think about?"
Questions asked. It was up to him whether he wished to answer. Would it make a difference if she knew? The swamp was good at swallowing things. What was buried here might never emerge again. Maea let her hand drop, hovering still in his space. Unmoving. Unbreathing. The way she tilted her head back to search his face for riddles made the exposed throat look like an invitation.
"Privy to? Nah. Not that. But if you wanted to... I'm saying that you can." She shrugged. He had managed to listen to her without judging. It was a small thing, to offer the same in return. "What did you come here to think about?"
Questions asked. It was up to him whether he wished to answer. Would it make a difference if she knew? The swamp was good at swallowing things. What was buried here might never emerge again. Maea let her hand drop, hovering still in his space. Unmoving. Unbreathing. The way she tilted her head back to search his face for riddles made the exposed throat look like an invitation.
