V.
Childhood nostalgia trickled from the leaves of the trees: the aroma of the flowers, the hazy summer sun.
She looked at the man sitting rigidly beside her, eyes dancing around every nook and cranny for any perceived danger in the amphitheatre.
He wasn't used to lowering his guard, but neither was she. Especially after the fiasco of her seventh year. Always running, hiding… Afraid of the slightest shadow.
She could understand.
And yet… And yet, the slight curve of his lips alluded to his enjoyment. The rapturous turn of expression in his glittering eyes could not be disguised from her.
And she was grateful.
So grateful that he had been given a second, third, fourth chance to be the man he was destined to be.
Overcome with emotion, she took his fidgeting hand into hers, and held on tightly. But not before bestowing a chaste, reverent kiss upon the curve of his pale cheek.
He didn't flinch, nor did he move away.
Nevertheless, in that moment, something irrevocable had shifted. Something intangible.
The day sang of beginnings.