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There was a fleeting gloom that passed over Acton's features, there and then gone, and he looked away. Her eyes followed his, momentarily, but then she could not help but to look at him again, to study the lines of his face. She wondered what drew him back, but then she thought that if Denocte was his home, he would always return to it. When his eyes met hers again she smiled a soft, whispering smile. One that did not judge him for what he'd done but accepted that he was here and there was always time to do better. His words were subtly sharp, like a knife you didn't expect to cut you, but when you looked down you were bleeding. Why, then, did he bleed? When Acton stepped closer, she didn't move away. There was no danger in him, no fear in her. "Jezanna," she offered unreluctantly, "So few, I think, have had my name." And she found it was true. It was only a handful who had ever heard it spoken off her tongue, from her lips, and she could see each of their faces in her mind. The midnight woman was the dark side of the moon; mystery and intrigue. Perhaps she suited these shadowed streets too much, blended too well with the moon glow on the cobblestone. Perhaps. "What are you searching for, Acton?" An assumption, for maybe he sought nothing. But weren't they all searching? For something that made their hearts race, eased their fears, brought them peace. If she had learned anything it was that the night gave security, a measure of freedom, and this place of star shine and wood smoke was no different. And Jezanna was all the curiosity of a child with all the temperance that came with years of living. She would not push despite her yearning to know, discover, uncover. |
@Acton
