[ their noses touch, and she gasps roughly and shivers.
what kind of lover is she, that she doesn't immediately say yes?
what kind of lover is she, that she doesn't immediately say no?
feels like there's a vice around her chest, winching tighter with the passing of every century-long second. this is the moment, she's realizing—the offer, the offer she didn't get to give Henry even to save his life, the offer she's been dying to hear pass anyone else's lips.
...and now that it has, she's trapped between the only two answers that exist, paralyzed by the finality of either one. she might never break the Weave and find Arthur, Herlock, Henry, Oriphi, Nessa, Minato, Ace, Ruggie, anyone ever again. but the door might stay closed, locking Arthur on the same side as her. maybe none of it's possible, maybe this kind of thought is all just a daydream. every single thing could go wrong, or everything could go just right; she won't be able to tell which path they're on until they're on it.
are a few years of companionship worth the snare trap Arthur would have to stand in?
what if she does what she often does, and frustrates him beyond the point that her whims and her moods are charming, in their way—? what then? she pulls the rope? says, well, don't blame me. you said you'd do it. ]
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what kind of lover is she, that she doesn't immediately say yes?
what kind of lover is she, that she doesn't immediately say no?
feels like there's a vice around her chest, winching tighter with the passing of every century-long second. this is the moment, she's realizing—the offer, the offer she didn't get to give Henry even to save his life, the offer she's been dying to hear pass anyone else's lips.
...and now that it has, she's trapped between the only two answers that exist, paralyzed by the finality of either one. she might never break the Weave and find Arthur, Herlock, Henry, Oriphi, Nessa, Minato, Ace, Ruggie, anyone ever again. but the door might stay closed, locking Arthur on the same side as her. maybe none of it's possible, maybe this kind of thought is all just a daydream. every single thing could go wrong, or everything could go just right; she won't be able to tell which path they're on until they're on it.
are a few years of companionship worth the snare trap Arthur would have to stand in?
what if she does what she often does, and frustrates him beyond the point that her whims and her moods are charming, in their way—? what then? she pulls the rope? says, well, don't blame me. you said you'd do it. ]
Tieflings are ill omen, you know.