A/N: Just gonna leave this here and walk away...
Also, I did some searching for Sara's League name in Arabic and how to spell it. Didn't trust the wiki, and after some searching I went with the version I saw written the most by native Arabic speakers/fans. Hope it's right - fingers crossed!
Reminiscent
There is something about the Lance girls.
Nyssa can't quite put a finger on what it is exactly, but it is something that separates them from the rest. No one except her enemies could ever hold her attention for long, but both sisters, they were different. Puzzlingly so…
At first there was Sara – beautiful, strong, wonderful Sara. She lit up her dismal world like a ray of sunshine, happiness in the face of death and despair. Nyssa fell in love with her laugh first, the way it rang through the halls of Nanda Parbat, the forbidden sound sweet music to her ears. The rest of it was easy; love came naturally with time and trust. Theirs was a force to be reckoned with, the Canary and the Heir to the Demon. To attack one was to evoke the other, and no man who dared rise against them lived to tell the tale.
But like most whirlwind romances, it was short lived. Sara ran from the League and Nyssa chased her, but by then her love was lost to her. She knew the moment Sara was willing to swallow poison to be free from her. But even as her heart was being ripped from her chest, she could not deny her love. She let Sara go. She just never thought that she would one day have to let her go permanently.
Her Tayr Al Asfar…murdered, never to wake and buried deep beneath the earth. She'd never hear her love sing again. Nyssa watches that light run from her eyes day after day until life is nothing but tones of muted grey and blazing red blood.
Later, much later, there is Laurel - brash, headstrong, and incredibly loyal Laurel. She's different from her sister in the way that the moon is different from the sun. Laurel is brazen and driven and so full of anger that even Nyssa feels worried at times. Laurel doesn't care about the consequences of her actions as she rushes into battle with nothing but adrenaline and rage to fuel her. Laurel tries so hard to be a warrior, to be her sister, and Nyssa can't help but watch her struggle.
But then Laurel smiles and her whole body changes. She's a different person. The anger melts away and the smile that shines through is contagious. It reminds her of Sara's smile, the way the world and all her troubles fall away at the sight - a beacon of hope. It makes her heart flutter and long for the one she can no longer have.
So when she finds herself stranded in Starling, outcast by her father, she goes to Laurel, perhaps the only person who could possibly understand what she is going through. She needs sunshine when she can no longer remember what it looks like. She needs the reminder of her love, and though Laurel is skeptical, she knows that the woman needs the same as well. So much of Laurel is still grieving and bleeding for her sister; Nyssa recognizes that same pain in her own eyes.
They walk down the street in comfortable silence. It is awkward at first, and Nyssa doesn't quite know how to make casual conversation with the sister of her dead love, but she tries and Laurel clearly appreciates the effort. The banter comes naturally between them, and for the first time in a long time, the pain in Nyssa's chest eases.
She passes close to Laurel, on accident at first, but then more on purpose. She doesn't know exactly why, but it feels nice and it's been a long time since she's had physical contact with another person. Their hands are close enough to touch; they brush as they walk side by side. It would be so easy to take Laurel's hand in her own and hold it tight, like a lifeline. But she doesn't. She knows that would be crossing a line.
But she doesn't stop the brushing either and Laurel makes no move to pull her hand away. Instead Laurel leans in a little closer, just enough so that only Nyssa can notice the shorter space. Neither one of them says a word. They just keep walking in the dark, meandering. They both have no place to go, nowhere to be, no families to return to. But yet, in that moment, hands brushing and bodies sharing more heat than usual, Nyssa feels more at home than she has in a long time.
The hours go by. Skies grow darker. A head drifts down onto a shoulder. A friendly hand reaches up to stroke gently through tangled curls, reaching all the way down to the ends, tracing small circles into clothed skin. A gesture of comfort. A symbol of home.
Yes, Nyssa hums as she closes her eyes. There is definitely something about the Lance girls.