If you'll be my boat, I'll be your sea,
A depth of pure blue just to probe curiousity~
Wordcount: + 537
He was a solid thing at her side - Real in the way that her nightmares, and the figures who haunted them, were not. It melted something within her, unfroze some passage that had connected him to reality, that had made his warm flesh tangible, his golden pelt intrinsically welcoming. The touch, brief and small though it was, brought her a world of reassurance; It was the gentle touch that came when she awoke in terror, writhing in his chamber in the horrible paradox of her wounded mind. The touch that soothed her, warmed her icy bones; The touch that made her real again.
His fingers rose to caress one cheek, and unthinkingly, she flinched. But only for a moment - fearing that he would be spurned by the movement, her own nimble fingers darted up to hold the man's wrist, just delicately, just enough to show that she didn't want him to remove this fragile connection. Her digits were gentle on the golden fur of his arm; A light, delicate weight, uncertain in touching him so willingly. It would take time; She loathed that it would take time. It had taken far too much time already. All the silver songbird wanted was to take him into her arms, and to hold him there - To absorb him into her body once more. It was all she craved. But the darkness that polluted her did so insidiously, starving her of the ability to be so fresh, so willingly. Thus, he would have to be patient with the songbird, lest she spook like a doe and melt back into the forest forever.
Her throat was constricting, lips moving, brows drawing low in concentration. All sensed tried to bid sound forth, to conjure voice, and the grip on his wrist tightened till her knuckles were white beneath their downy blushing hue. Thick lashes fluttered low over those summer-sky eyes as despair crept in and festered beneath her skin. Please, let me speak; She chanted the words she wished to say to him, over and over in her head, as her body trembled with the effort of such an attempt, and the fear and the despair shook her quietly, deep inside. Like a broken wind-up toy, the girl seemed destined to be cast aside. She could not comprehend that he might keep her, silence and all; Could not comprehend that the golden monster might seek to cage her permanently, and make her irrefutably his own. Who would want a broken toy?
She pressed her cheek into his palm, lips moving to mimic the words she desired, over and over. Then she moved her head, pressing her mouth into the cusp of his palm, so that he might feel the words she begged of him. "Do you love me?" Again and again, her mouth made the shape, and all the while she leaned closer in to him. "Do you love me? Do you love me?" It was a question she had asked once, a long time ago, to a different boy much younger than this man. But he had the same ageless eyes of that other boy, so long ago, and she craved that his answer might still be the same.
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