the very imprint of love
Just a little QuilClaire for my own amusement
When she was five years old, Claire began to tread carefully, hand in hand with her too-big babysitter through the lands of fairytales and fables. She didn’t look back often - there was safety in his burning hand, and smiles hidden in the pages
She liked the ones about the wolves the most.
He loved her even more for this.
It went like this;
Quil, she pleads from underneath the covers of her pink princess bed. (I’m the Queen of the his castle and you’re the dirty rascal) Read it to me, please? He hides a smile as he pulls the book from her shelf.
This one? But you’ve heard it a hundred times before.
She pouts, almost successfully, and he sighs, almost convincingly.
Okay, okay, if you insist.
-
Quil? A murmur in response. Why are the wolves always the bad ones? Why did he have to eat that boy?
He bites his lip, responses running - not quite as fast as he can - through his head.
Honestly Claire? Stories just need bad guys; it’s just the way it works. I guess wolves are just those bad guys.
She shakes her head indignantly and he looks at her, slightly surprised.
No, she insists, wolves aren’t bad, people just don’t see them right, that’s all.
He can’t help but let his mouth open slightly, she never ceases to amaze her.
Why do you say that Claire? It’s all he can do not to stutter.
I’ve seen one, she whispers, in my dreams, he’s beautiful.
And she just about broke his heart.
.
When she was five years old, Claire began to tread carefully, hand in hand with her too-big babysitter through the lands of fairytales and fables. She didn’t look back often - there was safety in his burning hand, and smiles hidden in the pages
She liked the ones about the wolves the most.
He loved her even more for this.
It went like this;
Quil, she pleads from underneath the covers of her pink princess bed. (I’m the Queen of the his castle and you’re the dirty rascal) Read it to me, please? He hides a smile as he pulls the book from her shelf.
This one? But you’ve heard it a hundred times before.
She pouts, almost successfully, and he sighs, almost convincingly.
Okay, okay, if you insist.
-
Quil? A murmur in response. Why are the wolves always the bad ones? Why did he have to eat that boy?
He bites his lip, responses running - not quite as fast as he can - through his head.
Honestly Claire? Stories just need bad guys; it’s just the way it works. I guess wolves are just those bad guys.
She shakes her head indignantly and he looks at her, slightly surprised.
No, she insists, wolves aren’t bad, people just don’t see them right, that’s all.
He can’t help but let his mouth open slightly, she never ceases to amaze her.
Why do you say that Claire? It’s all he can do not to stutter.
I’ve seen one, she whispers, in my dreams, he’s beautiful.
And she just about broke his heart.
.