one good honest kiss, to feel alright
The girl would be pretty, if she wasn’t so rude. She is built small and sturdy, like Bexley, and the soft sand of her skin is a pleasant contrast to the dark hair and leg barring. Bexley has always been a little jealous of pegasi, and this one is no different — she eyes the girl’s too-long wings with cold green envy and wonders how her life would be different if escaping was as easy as batting an eyelash, raising a feather. Acton might not be dead, she might not be starving, and Solis knows she wouldn’t be stuck here relying on this child to lead her to Moira.
She lets out a short, barking laugh at Ianthe’s remark. The sound rasps hard against her throat, fiery like a lit match, rough as pumice in the back of her mouth. It almost makes her cough, but she holds it in with gritted teeth. And it is while she’s focused on holding in the admission of weakness that she finally notices the limp way one of those pretty wings hangs at the girl’s side, cracked at a joint-seam, utterly useless if not an actual hindrance. Bexley tries to smile. It feels unnatural against the dryness of her mouth, but she is somewhat soothed by the knowledge she could, if needed, use the girl’s wing against her.
(When did she become so terribly — terrible? When did life become a series of events bookmarked by tragedy? What has happened to her that she is no longer a pretty, foolish girl but a woman wrecked by blood and bone and love, wrecked so deep her heart must relearn how to beat? To die is an agony; to live, even worse.)
Thanks, she remarks dryly. I’m aware. She glances past Ianthe to the rise of the mountains behind them, black against the new blue of the sky. Her heart freezes a little in her chest. For the longest of times Denocte had been the enemy — it had taken away her Solterran freedom and kept hidden the love of her life. And now it is her only refuge. The only chance she has at returning to any semblance of a normal existence, be that whatever it may, the only opening to a path that would maybe, just maybe, fix her broken heart.
Bexley tightens her stance and starts to move again, further down the path to the city. Where are we going? she asks, though does not wait to begin her walk.
