There is a moment, standing in the cool silence outside the door, that Bexley feels — alive. Herself again.
It rises in her like a wild thing, snarling and growling; it claws at the inside edges of her chest and throat; she blinks and suddenly she is a girl again and cannot feel the constant burning of her scar against her cheek, she is a girl again who does not know tragedy, she is a girl again remembering how to smile and it completely overtakes her. Her heart races. She feels blood pooling in the corners of her mouth. Her whole body trembles with excitement, with electricity, and every sensation (the kiss of the wind, the sound of far away movement) is amplified a thousand times until it is all roaring in her ears like the crashing of a wave. She can hear the moon in the sky. The sizzle of glitter swirling on her skin. The whole universe seems to narrow to the inch that separates Bexley from the inside of the citadel, undulating in a dark mirage, and just at the moment she thinks she might faint for the way her blood rushes into her head —
The door opens, and Moira steps out.
Bexley exhales a sharp breath she didn’t know she was holding. A wave of relief rushes in to replace it. “Moira — “ When they collide, Bexley chokes out a noise that is half laugh, half sob, torn out of the place where her heart is broken. She hates herself for the way tears brim in her eyes so easily but cannot hold them in. How long has it been since they’ve seen each other, and Moira has not changed a bit but for the length of the hair — still her eyes gleam and her coat shines that pure, perfect red, and still she smiles when she sees Bexley, as if the golden girl is not a monster. Bexley’s whole body throbs with the force of her heart, bleeding in relief.
“I…” She fishes for something to say that would encapsulate even a hundredth of the emotions that roar through her, so loud she cannot hear her own thoughts. Her ivory lips fall foolishly open. Something bubbles up in the back of her throat, a bile, a word that begs to be released, but she cannot find it. She follows Moira meekly into the keep.
The last time she was here — well — the last time she was here had been two kings ago, and she had been practically a child then, beautiful and perfectly ignorant. She had not known the trouble that would follow her or any of the million small deaths she would have suffered. Now the keep is something like a prison. Its cobbled walls press in on her, and the light streaming from the lanterns is not quite bright enough to push her fears away.
Bexley shivers in the cool, still air.
It rises in her like a wild thing, snarling and growling; it claws at the inside edges of her chest and throat; she blinks and suddenly she is a girl again and cannot feel the constant burning of her scar against her cheek, she is a girl again who does not know tragedy, she is a girl again remembering how to smile and it completely overtakes her. Her heart races. She feels blood pooling in the corners of her mouth. Her whole body trembles with excitement, with electricity, and every sensation (the kiss of the wind, the sound of far away movement) is amplified a thousand times until it is all roaring in her ears like the crashing of a wave. She can hear the moon in the sky. The sizzle of glitter swirling on her skin. The whole universe seems to narrow to the inch that separates Bexley from the inside of the citadel, undulating in a dark mirage, and just at the moment she thinks she might faint for the way her blood rushes into her head —
The door opens, and Moira steps out.
Bexley exhales a sharp breath she didn’t know she was holding. A wave of relief rushes in to replace it. “Moira — “ When they collide, Bexley chokes out a noise that is half laugh, half sob, torn out of the place where her heart is broken. She hates herself for the way tears brim in her eyes so easily but cannot hold them in. How long has it been since they’ve seen each other, and Moira has not changed a bit but for the length of the hair — still her eyes gleam and her coat shines that pure, perfect red, and still she smiles when she sees Bexley, as if the golden girl is not a monster. Bexley’s whole body throbs with the force of her heart, bleeding in relief.
“I…” She fishes for something to say that would encapsulate even a hundredth of the emotions that roar through her, so loud she cannot hear her own thoughts. Her ivory lips fall foolishly open. Something bubbles up in the back of her throat, a bile, a word that begs to be released, but she cannot find it. She follows Moira meekly into the keep.
The last time she was here — well — the last time she was here had been two kings ago, and she had been practically a child then, beautiful and perfectly ignorant. She had not known the trouble that would follow her or any of the million small deaths she would have suffered. Now the keep is something like a prison. Its cobbled walls press in on her, and the light streaming from the lanterns is not quite bright enough to push her fears away.
Bexley shivers in the cool, still air.
Bexley
and love doubled is madness
and love doubled is madness
