one good honest kiss, to feel alright
It’s awful.
The sickness, the ache in her limbs, the heaviness that seems to drag her into the sand until she thinks she might be sinking.
It does not fit her. Bexley is supposed to be beautiful and capable, and right now she is neither - just tired and irritated and perpetually exhausted by how ugly she looks, fat and sloppy, consistently working to avoid her reflection. When she does find the courage to leave her tower, it’s usually in a mood so foul Solterrans weave a wide circle around her, perturbed by her glare and whispering speculations.
She’s not sure how many of them know who the father is, or if she’s fooling herself to think that anyone doesn’t. Still there’s some solace in thinking (whether it’s true or not) that there is a part of her still hidden from the Court, a little silver of her life not overtaken by government, by gossip or political influence.
And so when she sees Eik in the streets a brief moment of dread overtakes her, dread that he might ask her a favor she cannot complete for him, or a question she will not answer. Overhead the sun winks its easy eye. Still she walks toward him, wearing an expression that is almost sheepish, and when he grins - really truly grins, the biggest smile she might have ever seen him wear - something like relief rushes through her, and she smiles back, wild-eyed and excited.
Sure, she answers, and angles herself closer; the god inside her shifts, slightly, and she swallows the urge to remark on it.
