(no subject)
Apparently my muse refuses to let me write for the "fireside" challenge unless I write for her first.
He lay stretched out on the floor, long hair puddled behind his head, flicker of flames playing over his face, his eyelashes a dark smudge in the shadows. I was frozen, one step out of time. My breath caught and he startled and stretched, waking.
“Are you alright?” he murmured, voice still husky with sleep. “You look as though you’d seen a ghost.”
“No ghosts here,” I smiled, kneeling to kiss his brow and retrieve his empty wine cup.
He had fallen asleep on the hearthrug, reading -- not knowing that I still saw his every waking as death defying.
He lay stretched out on the floor, long hair puddled behind his head, flicker of flames playing over his face, his eyelashes a dark smudge in the shadows. I was frozen, one step out of time. My breath caught and he startled and stretched, waking.
“Are you alright?” he murmured, voice still husky with sleep. “You look as though you’d seen a ghost.”
“No ghosts here,” I smiled, kneeling to kiss his brow and retrieve his empty wine cup.
He had fallen asleep on the hearthrug, reading -- not knowing that I still saw his every waking as death defying.