"I'm sorry." She said, not moving her gaze from his eyes. He opened them just slightly wider and turned to her; eyebrows furrowed. His eyes burned into hers. His expression was different now, indiscernible in Snow's eyes. He shook his head and retracted his hand from the table, running it through his light straw colored hair that was now powdered with road dirt and oils. He looked no different from when she had first met him in the dark woods. At that time he was lowly and would do anything for a drink, or for something to buy a drink with. When it happened, she was so scared of the man who had nothing to lose. She offered everything she didn't have and yet it didn't seem to faze him. Something else was driving him to turn her in. That something else was his wife.
"Sorry for what?" he questioned, letting his fingers trail down his face and rub at the bridge of his nose. Under each eye was a dark circle. He hadn't been sleeping. "Dying? Or I guess not actually being dead?" He met her eyes again and continued. "That's nothing you could have changed." She let her feet take her to the marble table and let her hand run through the soft fur pelt that covered it, before looking up to him. His eyes had something in them. What did he expect of her? It was impossible for him to know anything about what she was thinking, or at least she thought that.
"No," she let out a sigh before raising a hand into the air. She reached for his arm, but stopped herself. Now was not the time or the way. She let her hand hang in the air, hesitation was so common in her thoughts recently, what if she just-. She let her hand continue and find contact with him. This was what she could do for him now. She slowly rested her palm on his forearm, expecting him to pull it back. It did give out a shake but to her surprise, he let her continue. She looked down to her small fingers barely covering any of the surface that was his arm. She waited for him to meet her eyes again before letting herself go on.
"I'm sorry…" she said quietly, "I'm sorry for leaving you." Her mind rushed with thoughts of the past few days. I am so sorry. I failed you. Maybe she wasn't supposed to hear what she did, but there was nothing anyone could do to erase that from her mind. It was stupid for her to even think about forgetting about it. She felt his muscle tense under her skin. The look in his eyes was again indiscernible. At first she took it as anger again, and she almost pulled back but then she saw it. It wasn't anger. It had to have been fear, but how had it come to that?
"What are you talking about?" he said quickly looking back to the death bed that stood for everything he had told her while inebriated; while she was dead. Snow watched him. She watched his eyes flicker from the head and to the foot of the table. The fur moved slightly through a slight breeze that entered from the still open door. She pressed her thumb into his arm and he turned his head sharply in her direction. Maybe the alcohol hadn't worn off like she had thought it had. What did she know? She had spent her life in a prison cell, away from the world of drunkards. So what was he thinking? Would he remember anything she might say? She let out a sigh and dropped her hand. The wind picked up again and she looked toward the door. A few of the thousands of candles that were nearest to the door went out with a flicker. When she looked back to the mirror from before, she could no longer see herself—the light from the room had diminished greatly. Chill had also crept up on her and, remembering how cold she had been by herself in death, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked down to the floor. Winter was going to be a long season. She could tell. Hopefully the spring would at least be a smaller amount of time.
"What are you talking about?" he asked again and reached over to her. He lifted her chin up in his thumb and forefinger. She stared up at him with green eyes wondering what he would show her next. When he had asked the first time she knew that he was simply tying to ignore her. Now when he asked, she could see that his eyes were filled with not only confusion but concern. If it was anything else, she would just tell him, but once again she was left with nothing on her tongue. A man, as a final goodbye, gives you a kiss, only with the thought that you will never know. How could you tell him that you knew? How could you be so certain that you did want to tell him? Did she? She felt the rough calloused fingers on her chin and wondered what was actually going to happen when she told him—if she told him. The feeling of his hands holding her after her death was strong in her mind still. She felt his hands from that time and closed her eyes. She had missed that warmth—that rough yet gentle touch. She shook her head gently, not wanting to sever the contact between them. After so many hours of death and cold, all she wanted was this warmth.
Please tell me if I made a huge mistake and/or if you liked it! The next chapter will probably be up by the end of tonight, but if it's not, that' not a guarantee. I'm just guessing based off of how fast the scene goes in 1000 words.