REXANNA
I have late night conversations
with the moon.
It soothes her, in a sense, that he offered to enjoy to love the flames. And she couldn’t have asked for a better response, honestly. But she listened while she inspected her own work with a critical eye, leaning a bit toward him to look up and smile gently at him. Perhaps their thoughts were too similar in that moment; while Bastien wasn’t certain he could capture the realization in her eyes, she wasn’t certain she could capture the happiness in the yellows of the painting, the sweet dips and bobs of the branches, and how the painting screamed peacefulness. Even if it seemed chaotic up close. But when he began to speak of painting what he saw, her eyes flickered toward his face as the oil lanterns rays began to cascade over the both of them in the slow growing absence of the sun.
Then, he elaborated on what his life had meant. And she listened diligently, not knowing where Italy was or who the Catholics and Indians were, but wondering if it were similar to her story. Except, where Bastien hadn’t been welcome, Rexanna had been invited to a wolf den covered in wool. The realization to Bastien’s history of preferring both men and women didn’t bother her, either. In fact, it had made a bit of sense to her as she thought back to the Masquerade and how she had done things there she’d never imagined she’d do before. And it had been exciting, though certainly not something her previous world looked down on. Her husband as a matter of fact, had many partners too – would spend the night with her whenever it became necessary to try and conceive children. Any other time and he could be found with consorts of a sort, not officially named yet because Calstron hadn’t been King at that time.
But it didn’t bother her.
And she nodded softly to him in response as he painted the image in her mind of his rebelling against the gods – of the way he couldn’t seem to stop, and she flashed him a gentle smile as his words began to include her. Her hand slipped from her canvas to rest gently on his forearm, her thumb aiming to trace gentle touches along the muscle there. “I think our life will be very full. I’m excited to see where it goes from here!” She chimed, putting aside her finished painting to dry and scooting along the blanket closer to him. “And I think perhaps in learning of your past, you and I are far closer than we thought.” She hummed with a spark of a question in her eye. “There’s a certain boldness one gets when living in places that don’t accept you for reasons you can’t control. I was never the running type before they let me out of the dungeons, but the first chance I got I took it.” She mused, glancing to him. “Started to run and never looked back.”
Then, he elaborated on what his life had meant. And she listened diligently, not knowing where Italy was or who the Catholics and Indians were, but wondering if it were similar to her story. Except, where Bastien hadn’t been welcome, Rexanna had been invited to a wolf den covered in wool. The realization to Bastien’s history of preferring both men and women didn’t bother her, either. In fact, it had made a bit of sense to her as she thought back to the Masquerade and how she had done things there she’d never imagined she’d do before. And it had been exciting, though certainly not something her previous world looked down on. Her husband as a matter of fact, had many partners too – would spend the night with her whenever it became necessary to try and conceive children. Any other time and he could be found with consorts of a sort, not officially named yet because Calstron hadn’t been King at that time.
But it didn’t bother her.
And she nodded softly to him in response as he painted the image in her mind of his rebelling against the gods – of the way he couldn’t seem to stop, and she flashed him a gentle smile as his words began to include her. Her hand slipped from her canvas to rest gently on his forearm, her thumb aiming to trace gentle touches along the muscle there. “I think our life will be very full. I’m excited to see where it goes from here!” She chimed, putting aside her finished painting to dry and scooting along the blanket closer to him. “And I think perhaps in learning of your past, you and I are far closer than we thought.” She hummed with a spark of a question in her eye. “There’s a certain boldness one gets when living in places that don’t accept you for reasons you can’t control. I was never the running type before they let me out of the dungeons, but the first chance I got I took it.” She mused, glancing to him. “Started to run and never looked back.”
he tells me about the sun,
and i tell him about you.
BASTIEN
