IT DOESN'T CRUSH WHAT'S MISSING
All his life, anonymity had been a boon. Silence had been a strength. Until, one day, it wasn’t. Until something changed in him-- a curtain pulled back, letting in the sun. That warm, crisp, life-giving light. “Oh, I-- I understand now.” He understood the stories of sun cults, devotees to the purifying fire.
This understanding only made him greedy. To be desired, and not forgotten-- was that too much for an orphan like him to ask?
Perhaps.
But he cannot help himself-- Elena is bright, brighter than the sun, and he is helpless to her gravity. She might not remember him now, but that doesn’t mean she won’t the next time they meet. He’ll make sure of it. It’s-- it’s not quite about romance, not that she isn’t beautiful. It’s about… pride. It’s about power. He’s learning there are ways to be wealthy that do not involve money.
The golden girl is radiant, words sweet and easy (it isn’t fair, he thinks), honey on the tongue. “What do you think?” Her eyes are sky blue beneath those dark lashes. Dune does not hesitate before answering.
“Beautiful,” he says honestly as she flaunts the flower in her flaxen mane. She wouldn’t know the value of that single word, the weight of it. She couldn’t know how rare it was. It wouldn’t sound special-- his voice is not rusty, despite its misuse, nor is it deep and soothing as honey. It has a certain brightness, a ring to it of youth that refused to be trampled by hard years, but it is nothing special. Nothing memorable-- he knew he would have to try harder for that.
Dune smiles thoughtfully, then extends another flower in the space between them. It twirls slowly in the bright city lights of the night court.
“Elena.” Her name is spoken like a promise. Like they’re old acquaintances. He keeps talking before she can ask "how--" “Flower for a secret? Or--” it was too forward to be asking for a secret, wasn’t it? To her he would seem a complete and total stranger. “A truth?”
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