#norgodly

[taroet-archive]

@norgodly asked, from [ Rebekah ]:     “ I have a past too. In another place with another name. All I want is to be her again. ”

Bastian stilled. For a moment — just a fleeting one — his expression lost that carefully curated ease, the amusement always lurking behind his eyes like a blade hidden in silk. Then, as quickly as it had slipped, it was back, a slow, knowing smile stretching across his lips. There were many things he could say. Words, after all, were his most dangerous weapon. He could take this confession & wield it against her, press it into the softest parts of her until she bled for him, until she owed him. But something about the way she spoke — so quiet, so exposed — made him hesitate. Just for a moment.

His gaze traced over her, cataloging every detail: the tilt of her chin, the way her fingers curled as if bracing for impact, the flicker of something deep & painful in her eyes. He had seen that look before, over the centuries, in glimpses & half-formed confessions, but she had never said it quite like this. Not with this kind of longing. Another place. Another name.

A part of him, the cruelest part, wanted to laugh. As if she could ever be anything but what she was. As if she could ever be ordinary. But then— hadn’t he once believed the same of himself? The thought soured in his mind. He pushed it away before it could settle, before it could unravel something he had spent lifetimes keeping tightly wound. Instead, he exhaled slowly, shifting just enough to let his fingers ghost along the edge of his glass, the flickering candlelight catching in the amber liquid.

“ You speak as though the past is something one can simply step back into, ” he murmured. “ As though time is a door that can be reopened, its hinges unchanged. ” His eyes flicked to hers, sharp & searching. “ But tell me, my dear— if you were her again, what would that make you now? A ghost of a life long gone? ” He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering, pressing into something more intimate. More dangerous. “ You want to be her again. But does she even exist anymore? ” It was not a taunt. Not entirely.

He understood what it was to long for something just beyond reach. To crave a version of yourself that had not yet been touched by blood, by ruin, by the choices that could never be undone . . . & yet, even if he held the power to give her what she wanted — to strip away the centuries, to sever her from the beast inside her — what then? Would she truly be the girl she once was, or just a fractured reflection, wearing a skin that no longer fit?

He could do it. He could make her human. He could press the weight of that promise against her ribs until she broke for him, until she clung to him in desperation, whispering all the things he already knew but wanted to hear again & again & yet . . . Bastian reached for his glass, swirling the contents idly. “ You forget, Rebekah, ” he said after a moment, voice laced with something too soft to be mocking, but too sharp to be comforting. “ I have known you for a very, very long time. ” He smiled, but there was something unreadable in it. “ And I have never met this girl you speak of. ”

He took a sip, savoring the burn. Because he was lying. He had seen her, once. Long ago. And she had been beautiful.

[sharkeaten]

you  aren't  you  anymore.  a  mirage,  maybe,  a  figment,  certainly.  this  isn't  you,  but  you're  not  entirely  sure  you  get  to  control  that  anymore.  your  baby  brother's  mind  is  far  more  fragile  than  you  or  anyone  else  ever  realized  –  if  you  were  sentient,  you'd  know  it  was  too  late.  in  your  current  form,  there  is  little  better  than  seeing  @norgodly on  the  brink  of  self-perpetuated  madness.  “  how  d'you  think  this  all  ends,  huh  ?  "  lounging  across  the  couch,  looking  at  your  pride  and  joy  like  the  hero-hungry  sharks  vought  releases  into  their  waters.  preying  upon  the  weak  and  digging  as  deep  as  you  can,  “  and  where  do  you  think  you'll  fit  in  all  of  it  ?  can't  imagine  they'll  be  erecting  your  statues.  you  ever  get  scared  ?  ”  you  of  all  people  should  know  that  sam  is  intimately  aware  of  the  feeling. 

[envisi]

@norgodly — i don't worry, i ruminate. they're distinct actions.

she can hear the ache beneath his words – a hunger to control what was never meant to be held in hands.  tasha recognizes it far too well.  it’s lived in the marrow of her own bones for as long as she can possibly remember, patient and constant, like a ghost that never learned how to crawl back into its grave. in just five months, the riverlands had unraveled from war; the rivers were no longer a haven of peace, not since the sky had split open with dragonsong and rained blood across the realm’s fields.  once-tightly bound alliances had seemingly soured overnight, turning kin and neighbors into enemies sworn to die with each other’s names in their mouths – a simple tale for the histories, if there were any historians remaining to tell it all at the end.  and yet, beneath the fog of war, something soft still lingers.  something green, stubborn and growing, threaded between the reeds and riverbanks like a secret too gentle to die.  war often comes and goes.  the earth stays the same through it all – until it is scorched away by the dragons too, all birthed from human hands.  she has said little since the prince’s arrival; her mother had handled the politicking, cool and carefully, while her father blustered about grain, horses, and their brittle supply lines.  equally desperate to impress and to be heard; house komad had once sworn fealty to king viserys – in turn, they had sworn fealty to queen rhaenyra. however, visits from any kind of royalty was rare for them. what interest could anyone have in a house fraying at the edges / no heir to carry its name?  especially in wartime. they were not known for their soldiers, but rather their grain – their flax, their river-fed fields. the crops that somehow kept growing even when the weather or the lords above tried their best to starve them out. they had horses too, though not the kind bred for war. she knew how to ride, how to clean a blade, but she had never used one. the thought unsettled her.

hands curling inside her riding cloak, her fingers absently rub the wool fabric.    “is there really a difference?”   the question is rhetorical but still, she finds herself turning it over like a leaf in her palm – searching for a meaning.  wondering if there was a genuine answer to her own question.  she would like to find out for herself. she hadn’t seen the front lines of any battles – only heard the same whispers as everyone, read the same scattered reports and half-truths from raven scrolls.  war hadn’t breached house komad’s door yet, but it seemed on the horizon.  now, more so than ever with the prince’s presence.  with his worry and ruminating. “is it really that bad?”    she suddenly asks, brown eyes widening in pensiveness – afraid of what could come out of his mouth as an answer. “the war, i mean.  we read what the ravens bring us, but here it’s…  more talk than anything.  lots of questions, lots of maps, trying to plan for...  if the queen ever needed our help.”

[lumoen]

New Message : ⠀ i’m not sure if it’s a dream or a memory. ⠀ / ⠀ From: @norgodly, ⠀ Irving B.

there is little escape from the confines of their mind. ⠀ few, ⠀ if any, ⠀ pleasant memories are created. ⠀ there’s no getting-lost-in-the-warmth-of-nostalgia. ⠀ no daydreaming, ⠀ no captivating stories to tell. ⠀ their world is devoid of color and their minds devoid of recollection.

a hint of a moment outside the severed floor is rare. ⠀ helly’s never experienced such. ⠀ beyond remembering the state of delaware, ⠀ she feels a profound disconnect between what she’s known prior to this and the memories she’s formed here.

irving’s statement makes her halt her progress on refining. ⠀ (though, ⠀ she’s not normally working. ⠀ she clicks around, ⠀ rarely staring at her computer screen. ⠀ often staring at the clock.)

she stands up, ⠀ checking their surroundings. ⠀ [⠀ YOU CAN NEVER BE TOO CAREFUL ⠀ —⠀ THERE ARE EARS EVERYWHERE ⠀ ] ⠀ she pushes down the divider between them before speaking,

“it has to be a memory,⠀ right?”⠀ her response is hushed, ⠀ her tone fervent. ⠀ “i mean, ⠀ i don't think they’d let us dream down here.”

[lingeringscars]

🐆 !

lucy donato - judy hale. i know so little about this show but see no reason why they would not interact

jasmine anderson - annie january. i haven't seen this show either, but vague gestures, power things

van palmer - maeve wiley. there is something here <3

shane collins - charlie. i could easily put him into the apocalypse

nathan scott - natalie scatorrcio. this could potentially be very funny

luna kom floukru - cato, this makes some sense to ME. thg luna who is from district 4 and wins her year and then completely disappears off the face of the planet

bellamy blake - eloise bridgerton. eloise and octavia makes sense in my head. you have fantasy preferred, and I can fit bellamy into a fantasy verse. another older brother for u eloise.

spencer hastings - emma duval. well. yeah.

melinda may - alex karev. i could apoc her I Think

christian ozera - irving b. i've never seen severance either but from what i DO know...powerful shady family / shady work type stuff.

rachel reid - emily prentiss. what if in the end the bau takes down gretchen idk!

arifa binti qawi- sam riordan. i could fit her into this world i am v sure of it.

nima rahimi - travis martinez. she could be the one who helps him get a new identity post rescue

shauna shipman - clarke griffin. this is unfortunate. it is also true and real in my head. apoc shauna clarke...could be a lot.

christian ozera - eleanor crain. fun.

ryan edwards - alicia clark. does alciia need a friend that is v good at just Being There and will keep all your secrets to the grave even if it kills him and firmly believes in Good

nat scatorccio - alicia clark, this makes sense.

mariana adams foster - maeve wiley. they could be friends. after mariana probably judges her unfortunately.

lydia martin - sam riordan. oh. i have never considered this universe for her but oh.

alex karev - frank langdon. this would be interesting.

meme: send me a “ 🐆 ” and i’ll randomize our muse lists / status: always accepting

[ayarn-a]

🐆!

katherine pierce and rebekah. listen, in my head, the team up would be deadly. dadum tsss.

angelica evans and frank langdon. just the pitt vibes honestly. and i selfishly wanna fleshout my new oc.

clove and cato.

behati carson and alex karev. just a pair of medical buddies doing gods work in the apoc perhaps.

thalia carson and beth greene. sisters who can't find their sisters perhaps ? trauma apoc bonding.

@norgodly

[roseguided-arch]

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖, 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓. one part wants to laugh, it's a funny assumption, & the other wants to lean toward being offended. still, she stands with an expression that shows she isn't sure what to say. funnily enough, clarice holds a pad of paper in palm & a pen in the other--it's not a list, persay, but jotted down notes of theories, ideas, of the case she's currently working.

@norgodly said, " YOU LOOK LIKE SOMEONE WHO MAKES LISTS FOR EVERYTHING. "

woman takes in a breath, ❛ i don't . . make lists for everything. ❜ she'll begin, taking mental note of how many pads of paper she blows through in a week. clarice was both a visual learner & someone who remembered best if she had her thoughts or facts written down. ❛ lists are good. lists help you get things done, remember things. ❜ is her counter, arms crossing over chest. ❛ what ? do you just have a photographic memory or somethin', mark ? ❜

[taroet-archive]

@norgodly asked, from [ Alex Karev ]:     “ I said exactly what I meant: I love you. ”

The words landed between them, heavy with a finality that made Izzie feel like the walls were closing in. She had imagined him saying those words before. Once, she had lived for them— back when love had been easy, back when they had whispered it in on-call rooms & between surgeries, back when the future had seemed like something they could mold in their own hands. But now, in the quiet hum of the hospital, in the wreckage of everything that had happened, love wasn’t easy. It wasn’t a whispered promise. It was something raw & aching, something that didn’t feel like a beginning so much as another painful question she wasn’t sure how to answer.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, pressing her fingers into her elbows as if bracing for impact. “ Alex . . . ” She barely got his name out. It felt foreign in her mouth, like something she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say anymore. The hospital lights above them buzzed softly, too bright, too sterile, as if mocking the weight of the moment. The scent of antiseptic & blood still clung to the air, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself it was gone. Maybe the walls still remembered the screams. Maybe she did too, even though she hadn't been there. Even though they hadn't been her own.

She had come back for him. That much she was sure of. When she heard about the shooting, when she imagined him lying in a hospital bed, bleeding, barely holding on— she hadn’t thought, she had just moved. She had told herself it was just to check on him, to make sure he was okay. But that lie had unraveled the moment she stepped through those doors & saw the haunted look in his eyes, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was watching, the way exhaustion clung to him like an old wound. She stayed because leaving hadn’t been an option.

She stayed for Meredith, who had been too busy trying to keep her husband alive to let herself grieve for the child she had lost. She stayed for Cristina, who walked through the halls like a ghost, smiling & flirting & pretending like she hadn’t stood frozen with a gun pointed at her head. She stayed for Bailey, for Derek, for the people who had been left standing in the wake of something they would never be able to fully outrun. But mostly, she stayed for Alex . . . & now, here they were, standing on opposite sides of something she wasn’t sure how to bridge.

“ I don’t know if I can believe that, ” she whispered. Saying it out loud hurt more than she expected. Alex had never been the kind of person to say things he didn’t mean. He was blunt, sometimes cruel, always honest to a fault. But there had been too many goodbyes between them, too many breaks that had never fully healed . . . & love— it wasn’t just words. It was something steady, something unshakable & they had never been anything but fragile.

Alex looked at her, steady & unwavering, like he had already decided this was something he wasn’t going to let her run from. She knew that look. She had seen it before— the night she lay dying in a hospital bed, the night he had promised he wouldn’t leave. He had meant it then. Maybe he meant it now. But love had never been their problem. Their problem was whether or not they could survive it.

[vicuntess]

@norgodly : the truth has a way of rearing its ugly head.

standing by the window of their shared sitting room, the golden light of the late afternoon casts a warm glow over kate. warmer than the atmosphere in the room. craning her head to face edwina, silence reigns as the eldest sharma sister observes the younger's delicate features— sadness and resolve written across them. for a moment, it feels as if kate's aching heart shatters into a million pieces; the weight of their situation too much to bear. the tangled web of emotions and love that had managed to ensnare them both. anthony bridgerton— the man who had come between the two sisters, looming large in both their thoughts, a constant presence even in his absence. "yes," she finally breaks her silence, voice soft but remaining steady. "the truth does have a way of making itself known, no matter how much we might wish to hide from it."

moving closer to edwina, her eyes search her sister's for a hint of understanding— coming up short in the process. "but the truth, however painful, can also be a path to clarity. it forces us to confront our deepest fears and desires." in doing so, it brings people closer to their true selves. (and, in this moment, kate feels like an awful person and horrible sister. perhaps— she is.) taking edwina's hands into her own, kate squeezes them gently. a test of sorts. "i never wanted to hurt you, bon. my feelings for anthony, and his for me— they were something neither of us anticipated." but neither of them can change what has transpired; there is no eraser for time. warm tears threaten the corners of hickory irises, digits brought up to dab at the flesh. "i must face this truth, with honesty and love. no matter what happens, you are my sister, and i love you more than anything. i will never see that man again if it means maintaining your happiness." though her voice wavers as the words leave her mouth, kate's determination doesn't falter. there's hope that their bond, no matter how strained, could withstand any trial. even a trial of this magnitude.

and now, there's only the consequences left to face.

[sharkeaten]

@norgodly's sam  says  “  you…  you  have  something  on  your  face.  ”  to  eden.

his  words  don't  register,  you've  been  frozen  for  seconds  that  feel  like  years.  you've  never  been  allowed  to  be  this  close  to  him  before  without  supervision  (  a  guard  once  told  you  you've  got  moony  eyes  when  he's  around.  you  still  don't  know  what  that  means,  but  you  can't  imagine  it's  very  bad  )  ;  it's  distracting,  reminds  you  of  the  bright  lights  that  make  you  squeeze  your  eyes  shut  and  flinch  away.  you're  not  so  naive  to  think  you  would  ever  flinch  away. 

“  oh.  ”  you  do  move  away,  just  a  little.  mainly  so  you  can  peer  at  yourself  in  the  mirror  behind  him  –  you  look  a  bit  scared,  you  think.  like  the  deers  on  the  road  on  the  way  to  luke's  cabin.  “  is  it  the  blood  ?  or  somethin'  else  ?  ”  if  you  were  anyone  else  it  might  sound  like  a  joke. 

[omargaret]

✟ ❛ FUCK THIS PLACE. SERIOUSLY, JUST FUCK THIS PLACE. ❜ — @norgodly (robin b.)

THE INSTINCTUAL TIGHTENING OF YOUR SHOULDERS, unaccustomed to the casual use of such coarse language but intrigued by it all the same. the voices had often sworn at you in your youth : VILE, TERRIBLE THINGS. but robin's fervent over-use of the word doesn't turn your stomach in the same way. so, moth to the flame, you imagine the word on your own tongue. how shamelessly it might pass through your lips. ❝ YEAH, FUCK THIS PLACE. ❞ not so confidently delivered, but the smile on your lips warns it may not be the last time you let it slip.

❝ WHY EXACTLY? ❞ you had your own issues with the graveyard attached to the old church, horrible memories that haunted your days & nights. ❝ DID SOMETHING HAPPEN TO YOU HERE? ❞ could these horrors have tormented someone else? ( is there a chance that i'm not crazy? ) oh, you dare to dream. . .

[darklypse]

her back lays flat against the roof, eyes to the sky with a longing for something she wouldn't even recognize if it hit her in the face. what did seattle look like before became broken concrete and abandoned posts? hell, what did salt lake? lived there her whole life and couldn't tell the difference between then and now. it's bittersweet, she'd tell herself on nights when the thoughts grew heavy. bitter for how she'll never be able to turn back time and know. sweet because longing for memories has to be better than missing them beneath the glow of moonlight.

the sound of a soccer ball meeting the wall with a heavy thud echoes even when they're up this high. pulls her lips into a smile. she can hear one of the younger kids groaning for missing his chance to save the ball while the other team collectively cheers. isn't it funny how priorities change? the last time she cared about a soccer ball had to be more than the amount of fingers she has on one hand. maybe two. no, not two— her heart has already thundered a little too loudly to be too changed by this world yet. something her mother tells her she's proud of her for.

❝   you know, i've been thinking about it.. i don't hate it here after all.   ❞ it wouldn't have made sense to stay in salt lake. mel had wanted to. had even tried to change their minds. but even she didn't think she could stand to look at that damn hospital one more day. crimson soaked with pieces of her heart laying in there for rot. the city changed before they even had a chance to turn the page. what she's trying to say is she's glad she listened to them, all of them. propping herself up to rest back onto her hands she looks over at owen with a smile still curled in place. ❝   if you even think about saying i told you so—   ❞ laughs like the world isn't a fucking wasteland. sometimes she likes to pretend it isn't. ❝   even if maybe you did.   ❞

¹ @norgodly / ² starter call .. from mel for owen moore.

[333player]

might. try and get on my multi for a few days

[roseguided-arch]

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒, 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐎 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 a fight unless it felt important. the mediator, she believes her mother had said before. bella was also a caretaker & has a lot of the traits that come with it. she would rather have a calm, peaceful enviroment with as less noise or commotion as possible. it's why, perhaps, she & charlie always seemed to work more than her mother. they were so alike, wanted a lot of the same things. while renee liked traveling, liked excitment in her life. bella always felt like she was taking care of her mother rather than the other way around. which is why maren's directness made young woman blink once or twice in surprise, hands stuffing themselves in pockets.

@norgodly said, " SAY ANYTHING, BUT SAY WHAT YOU MEAN. "

bella breaths out, a shrug overtaking shoulders. brown eyes advert themselves for a moment as she speaks: ❛ listen, i- . . i'm not used to the whole speaking up thing. i'm . . very quiet as a person. directness was never a strong suit. ❜ to this, she manages a grin as if finding humor in it. not the worst thing she could be, right ? ❛ but i, uh , i like you. y'know ? ❜ bella lifts her eyes, ❛ i'd like for us to be-to be friends. if you're alright with that. ❜ hand withdraws itself from pocket to gesture to maren. ❛ i mean it. ❜

[godunlap]

UNCERTAINTY WILL EAT YOU ALIVE, if you let it. the dead matter of indecision pools like cement around your ankles, stunted by the delay that comes with questioning each and every step forward. the liberation of the woods was meant to be a new beginning. THE RISE OF THE GUARDIANS OF GODOLKIN, so why have your latest victories left you feeling so. . . hollow? ❝ no, not that. it's just- ❞ lips twisting, these things are so often a pain for you to convey in words. bombarded by endless thoughts & feelings, it's ironic that you're incapable of expressing (EXPOSING) yourself the same way. YOUR CONTROL HAS IMPROVED in the past few months, under the guidance of vought and the seven. the constant roaring in your mind has dulled to a tiresome hum - tv static that never shuts off. but despite everything that's changed, the way you & sam have been elevated, welcomed to the inner circle, something nags at you still. the fear that PREVIOUSLY CUT STRINGS have been plucked up by a new puppeteer. ❝ how do you really feel about all of this? ❞ not exactly having heart to hearts on a regular basis, but you have toed around the conversation in recent weeks.

maybe you've been avoiding it, out of fear that you may have to face a difficult reality : THAT YOU LET HIM DOWN. all of them, really. if it's come down to trading one cage for another, then maybe it was all for nothing. ❝ i don't want us becoming pawns in another fight. ❞ one you're set up to lose, of all the supes in vought tower - you can sense the two of your are... dispensable. INDIRA WOULD CALL YOU PARANOID, if she were still here. convince you to enjoy the moment, the admiration, the attention. all of the things you thought you might desire, it's all so suffocating now.

@revnants     —      “it's hard to know when it's too late.”

her words land soft but heavy,  a quiet truth wrapped in guilt.   you don’t answer right away,  expression flickers between a flinch and a freeze.  like the words hit a nerve you didn’t know was still raw,  stitched together too fast and not deep enough.   the line of your jaw tightens,  then loosens,  like your chewing on the edges of something sharp–restless,  usual hum of agitation dulled by something slower.  a thought too big to say out loud.   you can see it in her,  too.   the weight of everything left unsaid,  everything she’s done,  everything she hasn’t done.  and under it all,  maybe the scariest of all,  the smallest flicker of hope–or fear.  sometimes you struggle to tell the difference.   the silence stretches,  and you breath in like you are going to speak before it loses itself in the cavern of chest.   (what would you even say?  that you’ve lived most of your life inside of too late?   the walls built around body were nothing compared to the ones built in your head?   that most days you don’t know if your memories are yours or were they stitched together by someone else?)    you have heard those words before,  a thousand different ways—behind glass,  under restraints,  in whispers that thought you weren't listening.

“too late for what,  cate?”      you step closer,  slow,  not threatening–just drawn.  to her.  to answers.  you don’t feel the need to tell her your thoughts,  of the hesitation in the curl of your fists.  she knows.  she somehow always knows.   you look at her like you are a man trying to recognise something familiar in the ruins of what you became.   there is nothing poetic in the way you say it,  rehearsed too many times–too many conversations that go nowhere.  you stopped hoping people mean what they say when they make promises with soft voices and nervous eyes.     “too late to fix it?”

[taroet-archive]

@norgodly asked, from [ Eloise Bridgerton ]:     “ You're so alive, it's scary. ”

Rhyder grinned at that— one of those slow, lopsided grins that always seemed to carry just a hint of mischief, like he was in on some grand cosmic joke the rest of the world hadn’t quite figured out yet. But beneath the smile, something in his chest stirred, something deeper, something weightier than he wanted to acknowledge. So alive, it’s scary. He should have laughed. That was the sort of thing people usually expected from him, wasn’t it? A laugh, a joke, a reckless quip thrown into the air like a spark waiting to catch fire. But he didn’t laugh. Not this time. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying her in the flickering light of the lanterns that lined the balcony. The sounds of the city stretched out beneath them— music, laughter, the hum of life itself, all tangled together in a beautiful, messy symphony. She had no idea how right she was.

People had always told him he was too much. Too restless, too reckless, too untethered. He lived like a fire that refused to burn out, consuming everything in his path— places, experiences, people. Always moving, always chasing the next adventure, as if stopping would be the same as ceasing to exist entirely. But Eloise . . . Eloise never said he was too much. She only watched him with wide, thoughtful eyes, as if trying to understand how a person could burn so brightly without turning to ash.

His fingers drummed idly against the railing, his gaze flickering from the city below back to her. “ You say that like it’s a bad thing, ” he teased, amusement laced through his voice, but there was something quieter beneath it. Something softer. Was it scary? Maybe. He had never stopped to think about it before. Living any other way had never been an option. From the moment he had stepped into this world, he had been moving, running, laughing in the face of fate itself & now, for the first time, he wondered what it must look like through her eyes.

His grin faded slightly, not disappearing entirely but shifting into something more thoughtful. “ I don’t know how to be anything else, Eloise. ” The admission came easily, because it was the truth. “ Slowing down feels like dying. Stopping feels like fading away. ” He leaned in then, just a little, enough for his voice to drop into something more intimate, something meant for her & her alone. “ But you? You make me wonder what it would be like to pause— just for a moment. To see the world through your eyes instead of just rushing past it. ”

A breeze rolled through the balcony, warm & thick with the scent of the sea, carrying distant echoes of music & conversation. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair before turning back to her, his usual grin returning, though this time, it was softer. “ Besides, ” he added, voice lighter now, “ isn’t a little bit of fear a good thing? It means you’re paying attention. ” And if there was one thing he had learned about Eloise, it was that she paid attention to everything.