EVIE
Planning, structure, the future, it is all on hold for now. Even she must quiet her own restless thoughts; how was the young soldier holding up in the Infirmary? How were the gates progressing in repairs? So many errant thoughts that she muffles with an insistent hand so that she may focus on the here and now.
His own skin is bared to her in turn, scars and wounds shown plainly and with neither reverence nor intimidation. Her eyes only soften with regret and sympathy at the strange circuitry burned into his skin, wishing anew that her magic had any hold on his physical being. Still, Zuriel would ensure such repairs. Nothing was lost, not permanently.
Deimos squeezing her hand brings her back, and she snorts a responding laugh before obligingly divesting her pants. Aside from her one-on-one tangle with the banshee, Evie had suffered few other wounds, and pale freckled skin emerges unharmed until she is left nude and impatiently awaiting the fill of the tub.
There is a curious harmony and tranquility to their shared nudity as they stand in the bathroom, quiet and lingering near one another. It belies a trust and connection Evie had only ever read in stories - and only the truly good ones, which looked beyond primal desires to something far more precious. Leaning her side against his less wounded one, Evie takes a slow breath to stow away the sudden emotion that overtakes her after hours and days of enforced control. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she whispers instead, the thick cloy of her voice the only betrayal of the restless waters beneath. But it is a turmoil born from relief, from emotions she won’t dare put to words. The words don’t matter; this is what matters.
His own skin is bared to her in turn, scars and wounds shown plainly and with neither reverence nor intimidation. Her eyes only soften with regret and sympathy at the strange circuitry burned into his skin, wishing anew that her magic had any hold on his physical being. Still, Zuriel would ensure such repairs. Nothing was lost, not permanently.
Deimos squeezing her hand brings her back, and she snorts a responding laugh before obligingly divesting her pants. Aside from her one-on-one tangle with the banshee, Evie had suffered few other wounds, and pale freckled skin emerges unharmed until she is left nude and impatiently awaiting the fill of the tub.
There is a curious harmony and tranquility to their shared nudity as they stand in the bathroom, quiet and lingering near one another. It belies a trust and connection Evie had only ever read in stories - and only the truly good ones, which looked beyond primal desires to something far more precious. Leaning her side against his less wounded one, Evie takes a slow breath to stow away the sudden emotion that overtakes her after hours and days of enforced control. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she whispers instead, the thick cloy of her voice the only betrayal of the restless waters beneath. But it is a turmoil born from relief, from emotions she won’t dare put to words. The words don’t matter; this is what matters.
Don't look up, just let them think
There's no place else you'd rather be
There's no place else you'd rather be
