He talked a lot. A lot a lot. I wished Avesta was there; she’d shut him up in an instant. With a single raging glare, or maybe a gesture of her wild horn. I was much more gracious, to my despair. Too polite to cut him off. “N-no thank you.” I almost blushed. “I don’t wear such things.” It was… too much for me. I didn’t want to attract attention, I wanted to avoid it.
When I tried to float the earring closer to him, insisting that he take it, the small trinket squirmed in my grasp. A small frown tickled the corner of my lips. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the thing didn’t want to go with the boy. But why wouldn’t it want to be in the hands of its owner?
I began to draw the earring closer to me. I’m sure I could coax its story with a flex of my magic. But before I could press it to my skin I was distracted by the gleaming look in his eyes. There were-- how do I explain it?-- there were shadows moving behind his face. I wanted to open him up like a book. Read him in the blink of an eye, like father would. Instead I was left with my wits, which seemed suddenly poorly lacking.
“Have we met before?” I would have remembered him, wouldn’t I? I took a closer look at his face. Lanterns from the street behind him cast him in a warm glow. And starlight (was there always this much of it? The snow, it glittered like galaxies in the night sky. For a second it consumed me-- I wanted to reach out, touch it, throw it in the air)-- starlight lit his features in a way that was quite… alluring, I guess is the word for it.
No, I did not recognize him. If we had ever met, I must have forgotten the incident. How silly of me.
Furfur bristled at my side. I had almost forgotten about him. I leaned gently into him. His entire body was electric with tension. It was comforting.
When the boy's monologue was over, I didn't know where to start. “Do you always talk this much?” I wanted the words to bite, but I… I found the edge was leaving me. It was a very curious sensation. Like me, the real me, was trapped somewhere, pounding on the door. I could hear her pounding, and I could taste the fear on her tongue, and I could feel the grip that tightened on her throat, keeping her from speaking. But I also… did not care. I was bewitched by those orange eyes, which made my limbs feel like leaves poised to scatter in the breeze.
(Later I would be so angry at myself. What was wrong with me?! One smouldering look and I had been rendered to butter. By a boy!)
“Our birthday was three days ago.” I finally answered his question. “And don’t call me a princess.” I viciously fought the girl inside my skin. “Please.” I had won, but just barely. The word came out like a spit tooth. I frowned, and it felt like my mind was struggling deeply with a problem that should be simple. He had said he was an urchin. But he didn’t look hungry, or dirty, or poor. In fact, he made being an urchin seem downright romantic. I wanted to roam the streets like he must do, completely and utterly free. I wanted to go where no one knew my name. Give away jewelry. Smoulder like that, like everything came easy.
Something funny was going on, and I wanted to scream. Instead I stepped forward, and I asked uncertainly: “Are… are you hungry?”
@Reinhart this is going to be a good thread. I feel it in my bones <3<3
