one good honest kiss, to feel alright
Watch it, Bexley snaps at the merchant in the corner of the market. The sun glimmers from overhead, lights the whole scene in orange glitter. It’s a familiar feeling. She’s bizarrely pleased that he flinches at she says it: after all this effort to rebuild the court it makes her simmer with anger that courtiers have the nerve to be so reckless, in front of a member of the regime, no less. The regent rolls her shoulders back and glares at him with blue eyes so bright they singe, wearing an expression of disdain that curls her lips and drops her lashes to a moony kind of gaze; then she begins to turn away from him - but of course, not without a scathing remark - if you’re going to sell black market goods you might as well not do it so obviously. If I find you here again, it’s not going to be pretty -
Almost she spits on the pavement, but that’s harsh even for her.
With a scoff Bexley moves away. Her steps are quick on the pavement, her white hair floats around her like a halo; summer is back with a vengeance and the bright eye of the sun casts asunder a favorable glance, returning her to her constant, aureate glory. The whole day feels like a return to a past world, good and organic and nothing new, which, she’s realizing, is the best kind of new to be. Gods know they’ve had enough surprise for a lifetime. Now all that seems to matter is returning to the life Bexley had managed to scrape together when she first arrived -
And what could be more representative of such a life than Acton, appearing in the courtyard like a ghost called to arms by her thoughts of him.
She feels his lips on her neck, his warm breath, smells the jasmine and woodsmoke on his skin and the laziest kind of smile winds its way over her lips, a smile she’s worn infinitely often before. Ah, the misfortune of being in love ; her heart bangs loudly in her chest, she sways on her feet. Bexley leans into his touch, blinks up at him through white-blonde lashes. Didn’t miss you at all, she says, voice rasping from a smirk. Don’t flatter yourself. She bumps a slim shoulder against his without thinking much of the electric spark that shimmers over her skin a second later.
