T I M E L E S S
She sat on the end of the bed, twirling the chopsticks between her fingers. The soft sound of snoring was slow and sonorous, interrupted by the slight rustling of twisting sheets.
She would be waking up soon.
Yeva looked back to see the face of a young Hytori, half-hidden by a swatch of red curls, peaceful for now. Her eyes were closed, but darting. The whispers of fear resonated like fading musical notes as the girl's lips began to twitch. She knew the dream the elf was having, for it had been her own. She had laid curled in the arms of others, muscular and drapped across her, waking from the pressing body heat and the nightmare that claimed her.
She started to shift in the bed, and Yeva crawled further onto the mattress, watching her own expression closer. Her reflection was sweating now, fussing like an infant. And then her eyes fluttered open and a slow recognition had her turn her head to peer back at the strangers engulfing her. Eyes widened. Fear. Shame. Lust.
Echo, or who she was in this memory, tried to claw free, pushing and squirming away from the security of the bed, for to her, it had been a prison. A scary place of new experience and unusual feeling.
Yeva tensed as her memory passed through her. Behind her, Echo was hurrying to gather her shoes, and Yeva dismissed her, pulled back the blanket, and contemplated the very things that had scared her off. A couple, which had once held her steadfast, were now shifting to where she had once laid, their nude forms carved and hardened. They smelled faintly of morning sweat, their bodies had been defined by battle and tattooed with beautiful art.
Watching her own behavior as an outsider was strange, for she knew what she felt and why she ran. And yet, now, it was almost foreign. When she looked upon the bed, she did not see scandalous behavior. What she saw, and what she missed, was comfort. Companionship. Touch.
She crawled into the bed and laid there on her back, feeling neither the heat of another, nor the weight of their embrace. They were not gods, or seers. She would remain alone and the strum of loneliness would only grow.
The memory did not end here, it simply began.
She listened as her footsteps raced down the hallway, and sighed with longing to be home.
With an ache in her heart, she sat up.
Today was a difficult lesson, a cruel reminder of what she lost.
Today was the day she met Norani.
She sat on the end of the bed, twirling the chopsticks between her fingers. The soft sound of snoring was slow and sonorous, interrupted by the slight rustling of twisting sheets.
She would be waking up soon.
Yeva looked back to see the face of a young Hytori, half-hidden by a swatch of red curls, peaceful for now. Her eyes were closed, but darting. The whispers of fear resonated like fading musical notes as the girl's lips began to twitch. She knew the dream the elf was having, for it had been her own. She had laid curled in the arms of others, muscular and drapped across her, waking from the pressing body heat and the nightmare that claimed her.
She started to shift in the bed, and Yeva crawled further onto the mattress, watching her own expression closer. Her reflection was sweating now, fussing like an infant. And then her eyes fluttered open and a slow recognition had her turn her head to peer back at the strangers engulfing her. Eyes widened. Fear. Shame. Lust.
Echo, or who she was in this memory, tried to claw free, pushing and squirming away from the security of the bed, for to her, it had been a prison. A scary place of new experience and unusual feeling.
Yeva tensed as her memory passed through her. Behind her, Echo was hurrying to gather her shoes, and Yeva dismissed her, pulled back the blanket, and contemplated the very things that had scared her off. A couple, which had once held her steadfast, were now shifting to where she had once laid, their nude forms carved and hardened. They smelled faintly of morning sweat, their bodies had been defined by battle and tattooed with beautiful art.
Watching her own behavior as an outsider was strange, for she knew what she felt and why she ran. And yet, now, it was almost foreign. When she looked upon the bed, she did not see scandalous behavior. What she saw, and what she missed, was comfort. Companionship. Touch.
She crawled into the bed and laid there on her back, feeling neither the heat of another, nor the weight of their embrace. They were not gods, or seers. She would remain alone and the strum of loneliness would only grow.
The memory did not end here, it simply began.
She listened as her footsteps raced down the hallway, and sighed with longing to be home.
With an ache in her heart, she sat up.
Today was a difficult lesson, a cruel reminder of what she lost.
Today was the day she met Norani.