[ Her love hurts them. Ilde lifts one of her hands and curves it to the side of Angel's face. Her love hurts them. Like Dreus's fingertips burning into her skin when he would lay even the most thoughtless of touches upon her. He had loved her, and his love had burned, left little purple scars across her arms and shoulders, the outsides of her knees, up her shins. Her skin lights up with the memory of it, the stinging touch of a man who loved her, protected her, placed on a pedestal, and swore that no man would ever have.
She will have to be very gentle with them. So as not to frighten them, so as not to agitate the wounds that others left upon them. Guide them carefully to know that her love came with no demands. The word need not be said.
Ilde has only been kissed once or twice in her life. The others had been boys in the night, the kind of juvenile pecking that one placed upon a weeping girl after surviving the terrors of the night, to live another scorching day in the wastes. This is by far the superior experience. With a girl she knows down to her bones, one with strength and gentleness who struggles to make sense of her newfound freedom after a life beneath a tyrant's burning love.
no subject
She will have to be very gentle with them. So as not to frighten them, so as not to agitate the wounds that others left upon them. Guide them carefully to know that her love came with no demands. The word need not be said.
Ilde has only been kissed once or twice in her life. The others had been boys in the night, the kind of juvenile pecking that one placed upon a weeping girl after surviving the terrors of the night, to live another scorching day in the wastes. This is by far the superior experience. With a girl she knows down to her bones, one with strength and gentleness who struggles to make sense of her newfound freedom after a life beneath a tyrant's burning love.
Ilde's kiss is warm like the sun. ]