27. Stained Glass
Sailor Raspberry
503 Words
Silently, she approached the water's edge, peeling off her boots, beckoning the lazy waves with outstretched palms. It barely washed up against her toes, but it still sent a deliciously cold shock through her body, ending right up against the side of her beating heart.
Her hair is wild, caught in a whispering breeze, but she doesn't mind. Rather, she found herself to be enjoying the weather. It was delightful, something that should be cherished, and that's what she was doing.
As she settled herself against the shore, feet dipped into the water and palms pressed into the grass, she watched the sun cast brilliant shades of reds and oranges and pinks against the smooth, glassy surface of the lake; reflecting the world's wild dreams in one simple setting.
She wiggled her toes, curled little bunches off grass in between her fingers as the ripples broke and distorted the image of the sun. She sighed, contently, and allowed the remaining remnants of the day's warmth seep into her pores.
A shadow slanted across the ground, tangling into the soil and across her skirt. But she didn't panic, she knew she didn't have to, and she simply tilted her head to the side, peering over one boney shoulder through slanted eyelids.
His face was stony, lips and jaw set and hands lost within the welcoming confines of his pockets. He watched her through purposeful eyes, burning blue embers hidden behind a milky white mask.
Her tiara glinted, catching his attention for a brief moment before his eyes fell to her own, beautiful sapphire orbs teased with long, blonde lashes.
He took large steps toward her, and she did not object as he settled next her, hip sharp against hers.
The sun was playing mindful tricks, painting delicate patterns and shapes across the pant of his leg, then up across his smooth tuxedo and stopping, raggedly, at his heart. It sharpened out briefly, creating a delicate stained glass window. The window, she thought with a slight twitch of lips, to his soul.
She wondered, silently, how they had come to such solitaries; fierce and fearless during battle, and then, silent and thinking and soaking up the aftermath of victory as the sun bid the world goodbye, rays of light kissing the horizon.
His hand found hers; long, slender, confident fingers entwining with her own; glove against glove, and yet his hands were still so warm; and then the sun disappeared.
She looked at the collar of his shirt, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness, and she felt his sharp gaze on her.
In one slow, tranquil movement, he pressed his lips to the curve of her knuckles; a silent testimony of his feelings. Of hers, too.
But she knew that by dawn tomorrow, this moment would be nothing but a figment of the past, a broken shard that simply didn't fit.
That single foggy windowpane that refused to clear, no matter how badly she wanted to sneak a look through.