He hates hearing what they call her.
Witch girl, monster tamer, lunar harlot, duplicate.
It wasn't fair, or right, and they spoke it openly, to her face, to everyone who would listen.
Not that the insults would have been any better spoken in hushed tones within the shadows.
They were cruel, spiteful, vindictive words with claws and fangs that cut and bruised and stung more painfully then any weapon could.
They made his blood boil.
He wanted to tell them to stop, to make threats or even take action in a forceful way to silence them.
But, it wasn't really his place.
Not even his place to feel such indignation at them considering he had not been so different. Before he knew her for who she was and not what she was.
He'd said the same words, possibly even more maliciously, and caused more damage than these strangers ever did, he was sure.
But still, it didn't change the fact he wanted them to stop.
He wasn't her protector though, not really, not truly. He wasn't even really her friend, not after everything that had happened. It wasn't his place to interfere, no matter how much he wanted too, no matter how much he wanted to say something, or do something to make it all stop.
Because she never would.
Oh, she heard the insults; the way she winced or averted her vivid gaze was enough to prove that.
But she never held it against them or defended herself, she merely heard it, accepted it, moved on from it.
But still, it must have hurt her. It must have sliced her heart, damaged her soul, burned her mind to hear them constantly mocking her, judging her.
It wasn't fair.
Why couldn't they understand that? He had finally figured it out, but he supposed it was a little too late.
Another comment and another flinch from her, reacting to the sneers and comments with little more than a weak smile and soft voice, betraying her tender nature.
Finally he'd had enough.
It would be simple to make them stop with a word or two or even some sort of physical altercation, but she wouldn't want that, and he doesn't have the right to defend her like that.
Instead, he asks her to dance. Not because either of them likes the activity but because he can pull her anyway from all the gloom in the room and hold her close. Maybe, somehow, he can make her forget, make himself forget, all the cruelness around them.
Maybe it's wishful thinking, but maybe, just maybe, such a simple act of kindness and caring can outweigh the curses he hears on the fringes of the room.
She smiles, and accepts, and for a second, everything is well. It reminds him why he's had a change of heart towards her.
If only everyone else could, too.
Author's Note: I have NO idea where this came from...it's sort of depressing, it's not my writing style at all, and it's...sort of pointless. Still, it was probably good practice...
I left names out for a reason, but I'm sure everyone can figure out who it's about...
...Maybe I should write a second half to this from 'her' point of view...?