[P] he would not ascend; he learned his lesson | party

[Elena]

It's always a matter, isn't it, of waiting for the world to come unraveled? When things hold together, it's always only temporary

H

is emotions are not hidden from the empath, but she does not change her face to tell him that she knows, she keeps it hidden. She keeps hidden because she feels a sick chill of shame slide down her throat and settle in her stomach like reckless butterflies. She doesn't like the way his bitterness hits against her skin in tiny pin pricks. Elena wishes she would have said something else, anything else. She had only wanted to show him the match, not watch it burn.  

He smiles—she thinks it looks—he smiles, that is what she counts. “You speak as if you have lived decades before me and are imparting some great wisdom,” she says with playfully narrowed blue eyes. They are not so distant in years, but Elena has not transversed the sea as he has, and it shows in the way she still idolizes the ocean. 

“Oh,” she cannot hide the questioning that rests in a single word, a single intake of breath. “She’s—yes,” because Elena doesn't know what she should say, what she wanted to say. He had been the first to know, before Moira, before Azrael, before Tenebrae, before Elena even truly grasped what was happening, before she even really knew herself. He had known. “She is mine.” She clears her throat. “Shame you will not get to meet her tonight,” she says, a promise, that Elliana would not come near the meeting this evening. “She does look a lot like me—“ she wants to say, and like her father. “It’s the eyes.”

@Vercingtorix
Code by rallidae
picture by cannon