★ WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD
Hazel could feel his gaze searing the back of her neck. Distractedly, she reached up, sliding thin fingers along the skin where her hairline came to a fine point. Didn’t matter, though, because she was busy reaching out to the book closest to the door frame, already running the tips of blunt nails over the spine. It was rough and inexplicably smooth under her touch; leather-bound like the ones she used to see in the windows of her old village. Except this book wasn’t behind glass. It was real, and she wanted to read it.
Part of her was still embarrassed, still ashamed for staring so openly at the collection, but something about being in this room felt...comfortable. Safe. Safer, at least. Maybe it was all the space that had been used: the bed, the books, the shelves, the belongings. The way Bastille had gone straight to a certain spot and pulled out his bag. He owned the room, through and through. It was identifiable. He had settled here. It was like stepping into someone else's home and being able to feel how much time they had put into it, conscious or not. She both wanted and didn’t want to leave; she never knew what a room of her own, filled with her personality, felt like, and this felt like a sort of...substitute. On the other hand, she still felt invasive, and wanted to get out of his hair before she pissed him off.
But Bastille didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he sounded just the slightest bit curious.
“Er, yes. I do.” She said haltingly, snapping her hand away from the book. Her eyes, a bit wider than before, looked as if she were almost afraid that she had spoken Latin to him, despite having never remembered doing so. Arms stiff at her sides and fingers awkwardly tapping against her legs, her next words were shamefully rushed, the tips of her ears burning: “It’s the only thing I can read.” Then she stepped out the door, ready to leave.
“I - what? Really?” Hazel froze, carefully turning to watch him. Deus, she just couldn’t figure him out. One minute he moped and grouched, and the next, he was offering to take her to ancient ruins on the edge of the territory and let her read his books. She was almost suspicious. Still, her face brightened - the initial pulse in her aura giving away her excitement - and something lifted in her chest. “Gratias tibi. I’ll make sure they’re returned.” She assured him, hardly aware of the Latin slip.
Hazel really wanted to grab the first four books and hole up in her room all day, but her curiosity of the ancient ruins won in the end. So she started back towards the open air outside the observatory, ready to feel the grass between her toes and the breeze in her hair. Once outside, Arion found the pair immediately, and Hazel had to take special care to avoid the colt’s prancing hooves. He was already fairly large for his age, but she still had just enough strength to push him away from her bare feet.
“Ignore him, please.” Hazel said, amusement lacing her tone as Arion reached out with his teeth to tug on her hair. She swatted him away, setting her hands on her hips when he blew a distasteful snort at her. “Don’t sass me,” she told him. “that’s what you get for pulling my hair. Say goodbye to the carrots I found earlier.”
Part of her was still embarrassed, still ashamed for staring so openly at the collection, but something about being in this room felt...comfortable. Safe. Safer, at least. Maybe it was all the space that had been used: the bed, the books, the shelves, the belongings. The way Bastille had gone straight to a certain spot and pulled out his bag. He owned the room, through and through. It was identifiable. He had settled here. It was like stepping into someone else's home and being able to feel how much time they had put into it, conscious or not. She both wanted and didn’t want to leave; she never knew what a room of her own, filled with her personality, felt like, and this felt like a sort of...substitute. On the other hand, she still felt invasive, and wanted to get out of his hair before she pissed him off.
But Bastille didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he sounded just the slightest bit curious.
“Er, yes. I do.” She said haltingly, snapping her hand away from the book. Her eyes, a bit wider than before, looked as if she were almost afraid that she had spoken Latin to him, despite having never remembered doing so. Arms stiff at her sides and fingers awkwardly tapping against her legs, her next words were shamefully rushed, the tips of her ears burning: “It’s the only thing I can read.” Then she stepped out the door, ready to leave.
“I - what? Really?” Hazel froze, carefully turning to watch him. Deus, she just couldn’t figure him out. One minute he moped and grouched, and the next, he was offering to take her to ancient ruins on the edge of the territory and let her read his books. She was almost suspicious. Still, her face brightened - the initial pulse in her aura giving away her excitement - and something lifted in her chest. “Gratias tibi. I’ll make sure they’re returned.” She assured him, hardly aware of the Latin slip.
Hazel really wanted to grab the first four books and hole up in her room all day, but her curiosity of the ancient ruins won in the end. So she started back towards the open air outside the observatory, ready to feel the grass between her toes and the breeze in her hair. Once outside, Arion found the pair immediately, and Hazel had to take special care to avoid the colt’s prancing hooves. He was already fairly large for his age, but she still had just enough strength to push him away from her bare feet.
“Ignore him, please.” Hazel said, amusement lacing her tone as Arion reached out with his teeth to tug on her hair. She swatted him away, setting her hands on her hips when he blew a distasteful snort at her. “Don’t sass me,” she told him. “that’s what you get for pulling my hair. Say goodbye to the carrots I found earlier.”
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better