T H O M A S I N
Like a moth to the flame, she lingered just out of reach of this warm, charismatic stranger. So starved of connection, conversation, even if it was idle prattle, she craved attention.
The embers of his eyes were inviting, as was the sharpness of his smile. Was everyone she was bound to meet so much more charming than she could ever be? Did they all gather in a cult in the deep of night and drink from a fountain of beauty? Even the way the porcelain tea cup touched his lips – how did he make something so ordinary seem like an extraordinary act of grace? For a moment, she wished she was his cup; maybe if he breathed on her, he would spill his secrets, gift her this unspoken blessing of unearthly beauty.
When he insisted upon her company, at first, she was prepared to decline. Her mouth opened wearily, but instead of her own voice, the stranger continued to speak, a molten growl that dripped from him, and he said the forbidden word that made Thomasin button up her jaw. Friend.
Still on the high of the friend she had made the other night - the gentle vampire - she was gluttonous for friendship. Even if just for a night. Even if he was pretending. In defeat, she would lay in the den he made. A soft, airy comment as she took her seat, “Thank you, you’re too kind.”
Quietly, she would place a plate on the table to split the distance between them, and in the center sat a pair of tartlets. She was quick to reach forward and gingerly wipe the edge of the plate of cinnamon – because of course, to Thomasin, she strives for beauty of all things, including her edible arrangements.
“They are cranberry and cream,” She motioned to the pastries, each one a perfect buttery cup, cream and honey based, crowned with small blood-ripe berries, a curl of orange peel, and dusted with spice. “I foraged them this morning.” She stated it so matter-of-factly, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips as she nodded eagerly for him to indulge in it. “Please, enjoy them.”
As the tea maker brought over another pot and he poured it for it, she watched him carefully. Not a single drop spilt. The lamb slowly took her cup, admiring the beautiful painterly flora display, before taking a prolonged drink. When he whispered of the dancers and how they failed to compare to her, she paused in sudden surprise, scoffing into her cup as she almost choked on it. Her wide eyes looked up to his dark, chiseled face, and to her amusement, she laughed. A laughter that shook her tiny frame, unbridled, spilling from her pink lips delicately, but full-bodied.
When she finished her giggling spell, she dabbed a tear away from her eye, and nibbled on her lower lip. “Come now. If I looked like them, why, I don’t think I’d be spending my time cooking.” A golden chuckle laced her words before she turned her head back to the smoke and magic show. She spoke again, a whisper more to herself than to the other."No, I think not. I would be dancing." Figures of smoke, wispy and silky, partnered with their fleshy counterparts and swayed to the music. Every swirl of their hips, every beckon of their fingers, and every mischievous smile entranced her.
Thomasin allowed the silence to sit between them before returning her attention to the star-ladled man. “But you,” she mused gently, “You would strike me a dancer.” Her shoulders slumped as she relaxed in her chair, but her line of sight couldn’t help but tip-toe along the curve of his neck, fingering the chain around his neck, before contently staring at the stars that played on his skin. She admired how they twinkled, like he stole them from the sky: diamond dust. Abruptly, she realized she was staring. How rude of her. Her cheeks flamed in coral pink as she felt embarrassment fester in her body.
“Forgive me. I apparently misplaced my manners. My name is Thomasin, Thomasin Gray.” She leaned forward, a humble and sheepish simper teasing her lips, as she eagerly awaited to drink in his name.
"talking."
tagged: @Alecto
im feeling some of this ~ : X
