[ Her eyes close as he gently lifts the laurel above her head. This is a curse in itself, granting him a moment to study her features beneath the patchy shade of the willows above. He sees kindness in her features, innocence, and the beauty of one who understands and forgives, who gives to others, who overcomes her grief. This is a beauty unique; this beauty is hers. Would that be all he sees.
Treacherously, it is not. For that same moment is the only one he needs to memorize the length of her lashes, the smoothness of her skin, the delicate angle of her jaw, ...and, indulgently, the rose of her lips. The curve at the corner of them, the echo of her voice within his head, the smile she had given him but a moment ago, how lovely it is, how soft they appear...
Perhaps her closing her eyes is a blessing, too, for she will not know this moment, this weakness that has manifested in his hesitation. He's frozen in place as if he means to lean further in, but wills himself to not. The iron into which he casts himself makes the thunder of his heart resound louder within.
...
She'll feel the feather-like weight of the laurel positioned upon her head, blossoms curving up and above either side of her ears, his fingers working to secure stems into her hair. When he's finished, one hand falls away from her, but the other lingers at the side of her head. His finger crooks, moving to untuck a strand of her hair from behind her ear, allowing it to frame her face. There, his touch lingers upon the side of her cheek warm but distant for a moment, two moments too long...
When she opens her eyes, he withdraws his hand. A shade of peach dusts along his right upper cheek, slight but obvious against the pale tone of his skin. His gaze is thoughtful, reserved, and somehow-- more youthful than it's ever been, speechless as he gazes at her. ]
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Treacherously, it is not. For that same moment is the only one he needs to memorize the length of her lashes, the smoothness of her skin, the delicate angle of her jaw, ...and, indulgently, the rose of her lips. The curve at the corner of them, the echo of her voice within his head, the smile she had given him but a moment ago, how lovely it is, how soft they appear...
Perhaps her closing her eyes is a blessing, too, for she will not know this moment, this weakness that has manifested in his hesitation. He's frozen in place as if he means to lean further in, but wills himself to not. The iron into which he casts himself makes the thunder of his heart resound louder within.
...
She'll feel the feather-like weight of the laurel positioned upon her head, blossoms curving up and above either side of her ears, his fingers working to secure stems into her hair. When he's finished, one hand falls away from her, but the other lingers at the side of her head. His finger crooks, moving to untuck a strand of her hair from behind her ear, allowing it to frame her face. There, his touch lingers upon the side of her cheek warm but distant for a moment, two moments too long...
When she opens her eyes, he withdraws his hand. A shade of peach dusts along his right upper cheek, slight but obvious against the pale tone of his skin. His gaze is thoughtful, reserved, and somehow-- more youthful than it's ever been, speechless as he gazes at her. ]