Eleanor dropped his gaze, sighing as she tossed the poker to the floor. Osiris watched as the metal poker bounced and then settled just past the small table.
Looking back up at Eleanor, she had moved over on the bed, opening a broader space between them.
“Come sit,” she said, patting her hand on the bed.
Osiris, eager to stay in her good graces, obeyed. He sat next to her, keeping an open space between them.
Silence grew, neither one speaking right away, which did wonders for Osiris’ already racing mind.
But as he sat next to her, the smell invading his senses mixed with the feeling of the bed beneath him, only pushed the idea of her pinkish features and sweet smell to the forefront of his mind.
Guilt nestled into his heart.
I am worse than garbage.
“Can I ask you something?” she finally said.
“Anything, Eleanor,” Osiris answered, turning his head to the side to meet her gaze.
His fire brightened as a whisper of pink returned to her cheeks.
She likes when he calls her name?
Eleanor.
Eleanor.
He could say such a name all day.
Her eyes seemed to burn holes into him. “How can you see?”
Osiris chuckled. “I wonder the same thing about you. With only two eyes, your line of sight must be incredibly limited.” Eleanor’s lips twitched up in a slight smile. A mark of trust, even if only given begrudgingly. “I guess,” he mused, “it is more of aknowing? I have shadows that sense the area around me,” raising his hand and turning it over so his palm was face up, afew tendrils of shadows began to sway around. “I know you have blonde hair, and brown eyes. I also know that you were very angry with me. Though, I do not think I needed my shadows to figure that much out.”
Eleanor laughed softly as she watched his hand intently. “I apologize as well. We are different. There are bound to be miscommunications along the way…” her voice trailed off as her eyes lifted to his, a bit of the pink returning.
“What is it,Eleanor?” he asked, drawing out her name.
“Well…” she began, “can I touch them?”
Osiris’ heart skipped a beat as what felt like a swarm of butterflies fluttered in his stomach. “T-touch them? Touch what?”
“Your shadows,” she clarified, using her index finger to point to the tendrils swaying in his palm.
“Oh, yes, certainly,” he said, extending his hand to her.
Eleanor carefully lifted her hand to hover above his, hesitating for only a moment before she moved her fingers to swirl around his shadows.
His heart quickened its pace as he held still. No words could fully explain what it was that he was feeling. It was an overwhelming presence ofher,as if she were becoming a part of him.
“The shadows are so delicate,” she whispered.
“Yes, well, the gloves assist in keeping them at bay. Just as my head does. With a little assistance from one of our witches.”
“Can you…” she paused, stilling her movements as she glanced up at him with her cinnamon eyes, eyes he could lose himself in. Eleanor shook her head as if dismissing her thought, focusing again on his shadows, using her fingers to play with them. “Never mind,” she whispered.
He did not pull away, or to his surprise, feel theurgeto pull away. Despite their past encounters, he felt drawn to her touch. Drawn to trust her just as he wished for her to trust him.
What are these feelings?
