Perspective
He hadn't given much thought to how life would be once this was all over.
Idealism was an aspect of himself that he buried deep beneath cynicism. How he viewed the world was entirely dependent on how he was treated. It's childish and narrow-minded to shut off new experiences based on old ones, but it was comfortable, an existence that only he could dictate—free from expectations.
He had one partner to aid in his schemes, but it was predominantly business, and liked it that way.
Nick assured himself that all of this is inconvenience, it will be over, done with, then it's back to doing as he pleases. Setbacks were bound to happen, unfortunate though they were. In the meantime, he could burrow beneath her skin, agitate nerves, create doubt-make it as difficult for her as she had for him.
Judy cast shadows over his eyes—an eclipse that stretched on the longer he observed her. Light is deceiving for the nocturnal; it promises them a world enriched by the sun, bright and fulfilling, enabling them to walk diurnal courses alongside the rest of animalkind, only to burn and leave their bodies to rot.
But she darkened pathways he long thought were inaccessible, enveloping his senses in cool blackness and the softness of starlight.
Nick remembered the hope he'd feel staring up at the moon, symbolizing ends and beginnings in a perpetual cycle. It's not that morbidity suits him, at least it didn't use to. It's that he gave himself credit where it was due, especially as a youth. He thought that no matter what occurred, a better, brighter outcome could happen. If it wasn't deserved, he wouldn't ask or beg.
Looking at her, badge glinting on dark blues, Nick ponders.
He hadn't thought this way in many long, bitter years, trapped in expectations.
The fox signs his name, wishing to be different.
When she first learned of their ancestry, she thought how beautiful it was that all animals learned to live together. But that doesn't equate love and respect.
Judy, too, didn't feel love and respect for everyone and anyone.
Her countenance was brave, fearless and bold, yet, Gideon Grey crept into the safety of her thoughts and lashed her awake to an unblinking moon. Eventually, the dreams will be too distant to dwell upon, so she kept nightmares at bay without informing her parents. She knew how they were. Fear was not just something a rabbit had—it was something their kind embraced.
Dread, twisting through ribs, shooting into speeding pulses, is what keeps an animal alive. Keeps rabbits alive.
Refusing to enter the unknown was comfortable for her family. They never quite understood her desire to push aside the veil, seeking cryptic roads, treading off the tried and true paths. They loved her, but they didn't possess this need to be greater than what was expected of them. Eventide was dangerous. Predators prowled its indistinct borders, leaving them open, vulnerable.
Judy leapt into darkness, daring to forsake the sun.
It was gloomier than she had thought, lonely, but she ventured on—she never knew when to quit.
What she didn't expect was a fox to guide her through it, red as dust, eyes green as home.
To her surprise, he, too, knew what it meant to be vulnerable.
Back pressed against the wall, sharp teeth catching light, growls resounding in her ears, she holds no fear.
Her heart races from how real it feels.