A/N: I don't even know what this is. But I love writing from nowhere and publishing immediately, throwing caution to the wind! I'm wild like that. This one is dedicated to my baby, Amber, because she always manages to get me writing somehow.

(Also, if you take out the cousiny part, this is totally our tragic love story.)

Warning for cousincest. Roxanne's POV. Additional prompt of "face" used, courtesy of Amberita herself.

Pairing: Roxanne/Dominique

Prompt: 47. Noise

There is something gentle about her heartbeat, and the way it whispers to me. It is strong and steady and reassuring, but it's sweet and soft and delicate all the same.

It is the noise I have come to associate with her. It is everything that she is.

"I don't know," she whispers, "how to look away from car crashes."

And I know what she means.

I trace my fingertips across the valley of her skin; the rise of her thigh, the curve of her hip, the valley of her waist. She is a sunless horizon at the edge of my world – I would know the line of her body anywhere.

"If you close your eyes," I whisper back, "we can pretend there is no crash."

I am not quite sure how to love her without getting hurt. She is too many edges, all angles and bones, sharp as the marble she seems to have been carved from. Look at her; pale as the moon and just as important. She is the only thing that gives me light.

"It doesn't work that way," she says, louder this time, and I know there is no way around it.

"I love you."

"I love you."

But there we are; face to face, and she still won't close her eyes.

"I love you."

"You can't."

And it wouldn't hurt this much if I could believe her, believe that we were too alike, too close, too related to be in love. There are no limits on emotion. There are no laws on this, no way they can tell my heart to stop stuttering under her touch, no way they can tell my lips to stop mouthing her name in my sleep, no way they can tell my eyes to stop searching her smile for my name, tucked into the corners and frayed at the edges – there is no way I can stop this, whatever this is.

When she is gone, I look in the mirror.

My skin is dark as the night sky in which she shines. My eyes are heavy with regret. My body is made up of lines that are softer than hers, but not nearly as stunning, not nearly as cutting, not nearly as Dominique.

"I love you."

But she is long gone, and I spend my nights wondering who listens to her heartbeats now.

Because, Merlin knows, the car crash she made of me sounds in mine, the mangled mess of my love, bruised and broken and bloody, beats her name in my chest. I let nobody else listen.

When the lights are out and the moon is full, and I am sitting at the window, watching it shine in the sky, I wonder when the world started becoming my mirror.

I wonder when the world started thinking it was okay to keep turning.

I wonder how her heart beats without me to listen.

I wonder where she is in the world.

And I wonder it alone.