Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.
Moiety
Chapter Twenty One: Hands
Miranda holds Oriana's hands in her own, turning them over, her fingers whispering reverently along his sister's skin. So much like her own.
Miranda traces a line cutting across Oriana's palm, a line that, if she only looked, she'd find stretching the same path across her own flesh. And then her fingers. Fine-boned and delicate. Slender.
Lawson hands.
There is intensity tucked between each knuckle and grace hidden in every swirling fingerprint. There is firmness in the heels of their palms and tenderness at the tips of their fingers.
Identical in every way, but for what they hold.
Each other.