[ it's poetic, really, that his astute senses are too adept at navigating the dark for her to conceal much within it, for her to remain enigmatic. despite the temptation of old habits, her training is no match for something so ... exposing. which is all to say — there is nothing so covert in how her pulse acts at odds with her usual composure, a betrayal of her own body; the little skittering hitch in it gives her away, the moment his thumb comes into contact with the (deceptively delicate, for all the pain they must have doled out) bones in her wrist.
she doesn't move to suppress it, notably, regardless of the self-conscious apprehension that arises whenever her vulnerability appears. it'd be an obvious attempt, for one; for another, it feels selfishly inequal, to demand honesty and yet deny him the same. her fingers twitch, instead, and then blossom open to be able to toy with his own in turn in light caresses. (mother superior — viconia, her mind harshly corrects — had never much cared for her inquisitiveness. too many questions posed a threat, she supposes. but she can enact upon her curiosity freely, now, even if it's relegated to something so seemingly simple as exploring the shape of his hands.) ]
No one is more shocked than I am, I assure you. [ it could be seen as her usual dry jabs, but as it stands — ] You continue to surprise me, Astarion.
[ — it's much too quiet, too earnest, to be one. even now, there's something heartbreakingly gentle in his consideration of her, made more painful by shar's deprivation of such things. a pause lapses by, occupied by the way her eyes flitter across his face, searching. ]
— Has it been memorable for you? [ the manner in which her voice drops, barely a pitch above a husky whisper, isn't designed to entice; it's merely the effect of butterflies the memory threatens to stir anew, whenever her mind travels toward it. ] The way it's been memorable for me?
[ — not just have you been thinking of me? it feels more significant, more meaningful to her, that it should be a memory that can't be taken, nor lost, nor claimed by some cruel outside force. ]
no subject
she doesn't move to suppress it, notably, regardless of the self-conscious apprehension that arises whenever her vulnerability appears. it'd be an obvious attempt, for one; for another, it feels selfishly inequal, to demand honesty and yet deny him the same. her fingers twitch, instead, and then blossom open to be able to toy with his own in turn in light caresses. (mother superior — viconia, her mind harshly corrects — had never much cared for her inquisitiveness. too many questions posed a threat, she supposes. but she can enact upon her curiosity freely, now, even if it's relegated to something so seemingly simple as exploring the shape of his hands.) ]
No one is more shocked than I am, I assure you. [ it could be seen as her usual dry jabs, but as it stands — ] You continue to surprise me, Astarion.
[ — it's much too quiet, too earnest, to be one. even now, there's something heartbreakingly gentle in his consideration of her, made more painful by shar's deprivation of such things. a pause lapses by, occupied by the way her eyes flitter across his face, searching. ]
— Has it been memorable for you? [ the manner in which her voice drops, barely a pitch above a husky whisper, isn't designed to entice; it's merely the effect of butterflies the memory threatens to stir anew, whenever her mind travels toward it. ] The way it's been memorable for me?
[ — not just have you been thinking of me? it feels more significant, more meaningful to her, that it should be a memory that can't be taken, nor lost, nor claimed by some cruel outside force. ]