There is a weightlessness and a weight, a push and a pull, a changing of the tides in the room when he speaks. No, she cannot put her finger on it, cannot quite figure out what is so alluring about Eik, what is so comforting, and why they seem unable to meet at times when they've had a decent night's sleep. Is fatigue so evident on her face? Is at least half the world of death so easily seen upon her slim shoulders, shimmering along red and white veins like stars streaming through the night sky, telling a tale of something lost, something fallen? But she listens, she lets the world spin, spin, spin around her as the stars lean in and the light flutters in dancing dust motes that draw her golden eyes up and then back down. Down into a face of conflict and happiness before he asks to help.
But she has so many questions first. After all, he is not a dream from a sleepless night in the desert. The brush of skin against skin, the scent of a sin, sends a shock skittering down her spine. Cool is her face, schooled and calm as it should always have been, should remain, as he withdraws.
She is grateful at least for such a wonderful friend.
"Why can't you stay, Eik? You're welcome here anytime. With the world in an uproar, why rush into the arms of an awaiting flame, why not let yourself relax? You deserve as much." The words are nearly a hum, an order from a doctor to a patient, bordering on the edge of concern for a friend. She does not let her brow draw together when he looks into her darkened visage, she does not let that crispness of the world fade with each breath even when sleep beckons. The night is young. There's too much yet to be said, to pass.
At last she sighs, drawing herself inward, spooling in the thread until only the tail remains at the top, ready to be unraveled at the ends once more. Shining eyes turn from the man who feels like secrets now rather than the open book before, turn to the towers of books on the shelves and another one is brought to their tables. Absently she flips through the pages, looking at gardens and towering mountains and foggy caves beside the beech. Pouring over descriptions in the dim light as the silence grows longer, as her thoughts twirl faster. The dance is too fast, too fleeting, for her to keep up and keep it all straight. Everything is fraying, slipping apart, like rain through her fingers.
Finally she stops, staring at a large house and smiling faces, staring at the drawing she'd put in there, staring at the woman who is a mirror of herself and the man who stares adoringly at his wife. Staring... And her head falls to Eik's shoulder, ebony hair absently mixing along the white of Eik's, breath soft on his neck. Friends. "You feel heavier than before, but your shoulder is healed. I'm glad, and I'm fine, Eik. You saw Denocte and must have tasted the sea. Much happened, I've just been busy. Just...stay with me a while, won't you?"
For it is good to feel the sun peek out when he is near for even the length of a breath, to know the world still has good and bright things in it despite all that happens... And Eik, her friend, her desert dream... He is well and at last he is here. Maybe her mind will calm, maybe she would make a sleeping tonic once all of this was over.
But she has so many questions first. After all, he is not a dream from a sleepless night in the desert. The brush of skin against skin, the scent of a sin, sends a shock skittering down her spine. Cool is her face, schooled and calm as it should always have been, should remain, as he withdraws.
She is grateful at least for such a wonderful friend.
"Why can't you stay, Eik? You're welcome here anytime. With the world in an uproar, why rush into the arms of an awaiting flame, why not let yourself relax? You deserve as much." The words are nearly a hum, an order from a doctor to a patient, bordering on the edge of concern for a friend. She does not let her brow draw together when he looks into her darkened visage, she does not let that crispness of the world fade with each breath even when sleep beckons. The night is young. There's too much yet to be said, to pass.
At last she sighs, drawing herself inward, spooling in the thread until only the tail remains at the top, ready to be unraveled at the ends once more. Shining eyes turn from the man who feels like secrets now rather than the open book before, turn to the towers of books on the shelves and another one is brought to their tables. Absently she flips through the pages, looking at gardens and towering mountains and foggy caves beside the beech. Pouring over descriptions in the dim light as the silence grows longer, as her thoughts twirl faster. The dance is too fast, too fleeting, for her to keep up and keep it all straight. Everything is fraying, slipping apart, like rain through her fingers.
Finally she stops, staring at a large house and smiling faces, staring at the drawing she'd put in there, staring at the woman who is a mirror of herself and the man who stares adoringly at his wife. Staring... And her head falls to Eik's shoulder, ebony hair absently mixing along the white of Eik's, breath soft on his neck. Friends. "You feel heavier than before, but your shoulder is healed. I'm glad, and I'm fine, Eik. You saw Denocte and must have tasted the sea. Much happened, I've just been busy. Just...stay with me a while, won't you?"
For it is good to feel the sun peek out when he is near for even the length of a breath, to know the world still has good and bright things in it despite all that happens... And Eik, her friend, her desert dream... He is well and at last he is here. Maybe her mind will calm, maybe she would make a sleeping tonic once all of this was over.
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