[AW] disaster hearts

[Marisol]

he who wants loses everything.

 
It seems my spots were traded for stripes, Araxes says hesitantly, and Marisol tries not to let her eyes widen. She blinks once—twice—blows a short breath out of her flared nostrils and does her best to put herself in Araxes’ place, to really sympathize. The thought of waking up in another body is chilling. What would she do without the experience ingrained deep into her bones? What would she do without these weapons, the ropes of muscle and sharpened teeth?

It is impossible to imagine. She would be disadvantaged forever, missing the space she should inhabit, lacking the strength years of experience has lent her. Not that her body is without its own problems—absentmindedly Marisol runs her tongue over the edge of her shark-tooth smile—but, well. It’s done as much good for her as it has harm to other people. (Sometimes those are the same thing.)

Yet there are still so many things about Araxes that haven’t changed, things that make Mari’s heart hurt for her. The soft, graceful step. The warm and nervous eyes. The look on her face, demure to the point of sheepishness, as though she does not think she deserves any of the good things that she does. She has had a hard existence, Mari would guess. As hard as any of the rest of them.

“Oh.” Marisol forces her lips into an awkward half-smile. The movement is strained, that’s true, but its curve does not lack for warmth or surety; it is the mark of someone who knows her emotions, but not quite how to express them. “You owe no apology. This seems… beyond mortal control.” Stiffly she clears her throat. “And of course you will be welcomed here. Things have changed, but not that much.”

Anselm peers around her back leg with big, pale eyes, like moons or lakes against the dark of her skin. 

"Speaking."

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