And I… oh I…
I would tear down the heavens
To kneel at your feet,
To drink your essence,
To become complete.
My darling, my sweet,
Please make me complete.”
Seraphina navigated toward a chair and fell into it, her arms resting on her knees, her back hunched and her head bowed low. Her blond hair fell like a curtain around her face, and she sobbed again. Her grief hurt more when she couldn’t release it through tears.
Rune stopped playing and came to her, kneeling at her side. He placed a hand over hers.
“What is wrong?”
“You...” she choked.
“Me?”
“No, not you, but... you...” It was difficult to find her words when she didn’t know what she wanted to say. “The way you play the piano... Where did you learn?”
“I...”
She scoffed. “You don’t know.”
He was silent.
“Was that song... What was that second song?”
“Something that I wrote thinking about you,” he said. “About you and me, actually. I started writing it when we were in prison, and I finished it at the White Horse.”
“You are a thing of ruin?”
“And you are my place of worship.”
“Why would you say that you’re a blasphemy of flesh?”
She couldn’t stop her mind from wandering to what Briar and the bed-ridden soldier had said. She shook her head and pushed those thoughts away, because they made no sense, and because...
Because she didn’t care either way.
“It’s how I feel,” he said.
She lifted her head and turned it toward his shadow. He wasn’t looking at her, he was studying their hands, how they touched, how his completely enveloped hers.
“Rune, you’re not... a blasphemy of flesh, or a blasphemy or any kind. And you’re not a thing of ruin. You’re not a thing at all, you’re a person.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“It’s what I believe, and nothing and no one will change my mind.”
She reached for his face, fully expecting him to stop her before she could touch his cheek. When he didn’t, she let her fingers hover close to his jaw for a moment before she tentatively pressed them to his skin. He was warm. She felt a stitch run across his cheek but fought the urge to trace it with her fingertips. This wasn’t about cataloguing his scars, it was about comforting him, letting him know that he was so much more to her.
Rune leaned into her touch. Seraphina simply kept her hand there, afraid that if she moved and explored more of his face, he would pull away.
