What a lucky day this was, he thought, to have someone like Sabine in it.
Someday, long on down the road, he would surely wonder how such a creature as she came from the union of fire and the kind of blackness no flickering flame-light could help to reach – but Acton had never been the kind of guy to take the long view. Today he only knew he was glad for the girl beside him, too new, too sweet, to be tainted by the smoke-and-ash of her circumstances.
And besides, those wouldn’t last forever.
Acton laughed as she bounded away from him, a young butterfly whose wings were still wet. At her dare of a race, he arched a dark brow – and thought about how oddly grateful he was that a real flower could no more survive a headlong sprint through a summer-sweet meadow than his illusion would.
“I’m always game,” he said, and gave her his very best devil-take-me grin, and it was nice, for once, to know it wouldn’t get him into trouble.
And then they were off together, led by the light that arced from her horn like a spirit-guide, and Acton thought that maybe this time it wouldn't bother him a bit to let someone else win.
@
these violent delights have violent ends
