She still remembered their first kiss-- soft, sweet, if a bit awkward. Teyla's profile stood out in vivid relief against the pale, cold moon. Sora's breath hitched and an urge she couldn't quite describe settled in her chest, an undefined longing that made her stomach queasy and her heart speed up then jerk to a halt.
Teyla's lips were warm against hers and Sora would have enjoyed it more if she hadn't been so worried about the tilt of her head or where to put her nose.
Teyla's eyes sparkled as they broke. "That was nice."
Sora had to agree and leaned in again. Teyla's kisses were soft, like snowflakes against her lips, melting away all too soon, each one leaving Sora wanting to chase another to see how it too would feel against her lips and tongue. She felt flushed and overheated; her breath came in jagged gasps. She moved closer, the fingers of one hand twining clumsily in Teyla's hair, the other resting on her shoulder, and she no longer cared or worried where or how her head was tilted.
They lingered longer than was wise, still breathless when they snuck back into the crowd at the spring festival. For the rest of the evening they exchanged secret grins and when every one bedded down for the night Sora placed her pallet next to Teyla's. As soon as it was still, she slipped her hand beneath Teyla's covers and was rewarded with strong, sure fingers lacing with her own.
"Happy dreams," Teyla murmured.
"To you as well." Warmth engulfed her and though she was completely relaxed the giddy lightness in her chest made it difficult to sleep. For a long while, Sora remained awake watching Teyla, remembering the kisses, and hoping they would not be the last.
They were not.
After that night, each time they met the two of them found a way to steal some time together and as the girls blossomed into women, so did their relationship. Kisses led to holding which led to tentative caresses which led to so much more.
Teyla's lithe frame pressed against hers became a familiar sensation and, in time, the dips, curves, and rhythms of Teyla's body were more familiar to Sora than her own.
The memory was still so strong that even in the heat of combat for the briefest of moments, when Teyla pinned her, she felt a fluttery stirring low in her belly. For a split second she remembered what it was to be with Teyla, to be Teyla's. Yet, that was before—before love was twisted by betrayal, both her own and Teyla's—before that which she held most dear became that which she most reviled.
Relief surged through her as Teyla held the knife aloft. Better to die than to live with all she had lost.
Instead, Teyla stayed her hand and Sora found herself imprisoned with little hope of seeing home again. The thought that compassion could have been the motivation writhed in Sora's gut and she was torn between wanting Teyla to care and hoping she did not. She couldn't afford hope or compassion or forgiveness and most certainly not love. Love was the province of fools; anger the fuel of the righteous. She needed her anger now more than ever. With it she could survive, without it she would waste away.
It had driven her for so long. Sora now knew no other way to live.
.
"Why did you not end it? Your mercy changes nothing except my people will shun me." She had meant for the words to sound hard and bitter, not shaky and desperate. She had failed. Worse still, she had been taken captive, she would be considered tainted, corrupted.
Teyla stood outside Sora's cell, unmoving and unreadable. "I spared you for what you once were, not for what you have become."
Before Sora could reply, Teyla was gone, leaving her alone with the ghost of who she used to be.