(Untitled)
Sometimes it takes a while to wrap your mind around something. Other times you take a while to hide from something. But not too terribly long this time - she's braver now, you see. By no means brave, but really really trying
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"There are, perhaps, more comfortable places to nap, yes?"
Places with less awkward neck angles, certainly.
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She shrugs sheepishly.
Automatically shifting closer, tucking her legs under her and fingers curling around his arm.
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"So it is not sleeping you are doing, then?"
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No. Not exactly napping.
A thoughtful pause (no words, little nymph) and she leans back slightly, presses a finger over her lips.
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"It is a game, this?"
He blinks.
"Or possibly not."
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No games, just promises.
Promises that are terribly messy and cause far more trouble than is completely necessary.
She much prefers games, really.
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It might be flame.
"It was a thing given?"
Beat.
"Or was it more taking?"
Lethe, it must be said, does not look happy at all. And if Raven were a betting (bird) man . . .
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Lethe nods to both, at any rate.
She points to herself - eyes dark, troubled - and then curls her fingers (a glass bottle, poison) tilts them back near her mouth. Swallows and closes her eyes against the memory.
It's not a matter of something you want to do.
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"There were choices?"
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Her fingers uncurl from around the phantom bottle.
There is a boy, she wants to say (foolish little girls in love) and there is a girl and there is me and it is all a mess.
Promises and the people that she's still not brave enough - not strong enough - to disobey.
Lethe ducks her head, feels very terribly tiny.
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His hand emerges holding a notebook and glitter pen.
He holds them out, solemnly, one eyebrow lifted in inquiry.
"I am thinking, perhaps, it is not so wise or so comfortable to poke around in other people's heads, yes?"
Though that is always an option.
Well. Usually an option.
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She'd let him though - if he wanted.
A rather distasteful huff at the pen - she holds it rather completely wrong and her letters tilt horribly - though the color that bleeds out gets something close to a laugh.
i promised, she pauses, blinks up at him before continuing to scribble. it was, perhaps, not a very wise promise. but worse for others without me making it.
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"I am, perhaps, not entirely unfamiliar with those kinds of promises, yes? There were terms, then?"
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It was rather about her. Caught in the middle of a promise she didn't want to make in the first place.
Love makes people do incredibly foolish things without the slightest of hesitations.
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"Not your promise, then?"
Again there is a flicker in his eyes, fire burning brightly.
It takes a while to fade.
"It is a thing that almost sounds cruel, that."
And also, perhaps, like a thing that might be broken.
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the lady is a very cruel thing, it is how she is made.
Hatred - like Forgetfulness - a thing that you are.
makes all the bad things worse.
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