Not even the sunlight could keep me from you.
It kicked her in the heart, a sucker-punch to the stomach, Thomasin more surprised that she didn’t suddenly start coughing up blood from the impact of Valan’s words. She could only swallow the sudden nausea, praying it doesn’t try to crawl out of her throat and embarrass her even further.
The apology would only drive the pain deeper inside of her, and as she would reach out to caress away a tear, Thomasin would stay very still, terrified to move, her skin screaming at the touch of another. Her eyes would close very briefly and she would savor this strange pain; this seemingly harmless gesture would threaten to bring her to ruin, making a fool of Thomasin, coveting the sensation like a virgin clinging to the cross, begging for mercy.
Alas, robotic as she moved away to allow Valan to pass, her cheeks an angry red as she tried to decipher her feelings.
The lamb confused why Valan had such a power to stupefy her.
These moments, although fleeting, were laced with suspicion and a brewing bitterness. Was this witchcraft?
She wouldn’t allow Valan to see any of these conflicting emotions, not a single hint of this internal struggle was present on her face, just a quiet content, a half-smile of warm friendliness as she drew the curtains, regardless of what was suggested, certain she would be more comfortable in the darkness.
Quietly, mouse-like, she would move to settle herself across from Valan, putting her emotions on the shelf to explore later so that she could divert her full attention to the winter flame and her budding companion. She watched in tender wonderment as the rose would crawl across the distance between the pair, thorny and delicate vines acting like unusual limbs, and petals unfurling as he came came
“What a curious thing –“ she mused modestly, gentle admiration painted on her face as she would carefully lower her muzzle to try and sneak a sniff of his ruby-colored petals. “How is he sentient? How long have you had him, Valan?”
The vampiress was correct, the coffee-house girl had a menagerie of questions. Perhaps if she were a dog, instead, her tail would have been wagging eagerly. “Can he understand you, and you can speak to him?”
Could he speak to other flowers? She would ask Valan later, when the time was right. Her heart murmured in her chest with the possibilities; she imagined her own gut flora perking up, suddenly alive with all the answers she craved.
But alas, they did not move like the alien rose, instead they thrummed in sync with her pulse, responsible for directing the blood in her body from her heart to all of her extremities. They would never be able leave her bones; removal of her flowers would be akin to a cut to her flesh – she would bleed.
Happening to notice she was still shrouded, Thomasin returned her raincloud eyes to the woman’s face, meeting the opposing pair of blush-toned irises. “How have you been? Shall I remove your garments?” she would ask, a catch in her throat, wishing to hang her cloak by the door so that she could be more comfortable.
The strange sickness would return to the lamb, and she would chew her lip as she awaited Valan’s answer.
"talking."
tagged: @Valan
It kicked her in the heart, a sucker-punch to the stomach, Thomasin more surprised that she didn’t suddenly start coughing up blood from the impact of Valan’s words. She could only swallow the sudden nausea, praying it doesn’t try to crawl out of her throat and embarrass her even further.
The apology would only drive the pain deeper inside of her, and as she would reach out to caress away a tear, Thomasin would stay very still, terrified to move, her skin screaming at the touch of another. Her eyes would close very briefly and she would savor this strange pain; this seemingly harmless gesture would threaten to bring her to ruin, making a fool of Thomasin, coveting the sensation like a virgin clinging to the cross, begging for mercy.
Alas, robotic as she moved away to allow Valan to pass, her cheeks an angry red as she tried to decipher her feelings.
The lamb confused why Valan had such a power to stupefy her.
These moments, although fleeting, were laced with suspicion and a brewing bitterness. Was this witchcraft?
She wouldn’t allow Valan to see any of these conflicting emotions, not a single hint of this internal struggle was present on her face, just a quiet content, a half-smile of warm friendliness as she drew the curtains, regardless of what was suggested, certain she would be more comfortable in the darkness.
Quietly, mouse-like, she would move to settle herself across from Valan, putting her emotions on the shelf to explore later so that she could divert her full attention to the winter flame and her budding companion. She watched in tender wonderment as the rose would crawl across the distance between the pair, thorny and delicate vines acting like unusual limbs, and petals unfurling as he came came
“What a curious thing –“ she mused modestly, gentle admiration painted on her face as she would carefully lower her muzzle to try and sneak a sniff of his ruby-colored petals. “How is he sentient? How long have you had him, Valan?”
The vampiress was correct, the coffee-house girl had a menagerie of questions. Perhaps if she were a dog, instead, her tail would have been wagging eagerly. “Can he understand you, and you can speak to him?”
Could he speak to other flowers? She would ask Valan later, when the time was right. Her heart murmured in her chest with the possibilities; she imagined her own gut flora perking up, suddenly alive with all the answers she craved.
But alas, they did not move like the alien rose, instead they thrummed in sync with her pulse, responsible for directing the blood in her body from her heart to all of her extremities. They would never be able leave her bones; removal of her flowers would be akin to a cut to her flesh – she would bleed.
Happening to notice she was still shrouded, Thomasin returned her raincloud eyes to the woman’s face, meeting the opposing pair of blush-toned irises. “How have you been? Shall I remove your garments?” she would ask, a catch in her throat, wishing to hang her cloak by the door so that she could be more comfortable.
The strange sickness would return to the lamb, and she would chew her lip as she awaited Valan’s answer.
"talking."
tagged: @Valan
