EVEN THE SOUND OF VIBRANT CHIRPS FROM SONGBIRDS THAT HANG ABOVE their mossy trees were quieter than his presence, the haunting shrill of ambiance that lingers when he enters would always send shivers down her spine –there was a mastery in controlling that presence from overtaking her. she was much smarter now to pick up the pace; the way he strolls in from one place to another. he must’ve forgotten her rooted connection beneath the soft brown earth that their house sits on as well as the vast perimeter that surrounds them. hands to the rich soil were not only there to plant in small seedlings: there was a careful listening to every faint beat in need, every ounce of pain struggling to survive. his muted steps would have to be stealthier next time as a twist of scarlet lips tweaked into a smile of her own. his cheeky remark of her ability to pick up his pattern pulls her attention away briefly, “ oh, i can hear that, too –not as loudly as your stomps though. ” lively in response –perhaps, he’ll be mindful about the whispers of what the flora tells her. just as palms were dusting themselves off from the dirt she buried them in, she sits back on her knees to rest. she was nearly done with the process. soon she’ll have to head back inside. and she’s dreading on seeing the small group of press.
the guise of kora violet, dedicated botanist in her craft as a way to peel from her mother’s insufferable company in agriculture. she scoffed at the idea, wanted no part of it. her siblings may be subject to her mother’s overbearing tendencies. her path aligned itself to cross with his, must’ve been given by fate to allow them both to have freedom from restriction and practice, a prison-like mindset. her light evergreen gaze picks up from the floral batch to turn over and finally meet with the darker pair, her looming shadow with each step she takes, “ they must be brutal in there. eating you alive? ” her question dips into her familiar kindness, his gentle petal that was aware of the vultures that were still inside. she has the authority to flee but saddened for his suffering. who would want to stick around for so long? being pricked and prodded over the same silly inquiries over and over? absentminded, she reached close to her left for a rag, wiping off the excess from her hands until they were peachy clean on each side, “ you know, you could just ask them to leave –say that you’re feeling sick, ” near the end was a slight raise of her brow, always playful of her to assume he’ll be dramatic enough to even do so.
HE COULD VERY EASILY recall the first time he’d laid eyes on her. it took no effort at all: the red of her hair and how it shone under the beating sun, the stark green of her eyes, the softness of her ---he’d been taken immediately with her, at a loss for words in the most obvious of ways ... henry had been thankful that she hadn’t noticed him at first, he would have choked on his tongue trying to think of something witty to say. he’d been content with just watching her exist, the easy way everything came to her and the gentleness that seemed to exude from her every pore. not one ounce of that affection had waned over their time together. if she hadn’t called him out on peering at her, henry would happily still stand in silence and allow her to just be.
“ i’d feel much safer if i had you by my side, surely. ” dimpled cheeks widened with his smirk, a hand untucked itself from his pocket to extend outward toward kora. it’d be easier to swallow the pill that was the rest of their evening if he could whisper snarky things into her ear, take solace in the soft chuckles they’d share in judgment at their guests. at the very least, if kora was around to beat her mother away henry wouldn’t have to wade through the tar of that conversation - struggle for air when he sank beneath the surface. demetria violet had never liked him - but he didn’t quite care. this was his home, and sick or not he could order everyone out with a word. ---but he wouldn’t. he’d stoically bear the rest of the event until the dregs of their guests whisked themselves out to the long, unpaved driveway where they could drive through ten miles of forest to get to a main road, and whisper among themselves if the woods were haunted or not ( and maybe that’s where henry dillinger got his inspiration ). but for now ---
“ i couldn’t feign illness. you know better than anyone else that i’m a poor actor. but you should come inside and save me from the shark ---from your mother. i’ll be floundering. ” he’d make it up to her somehow. whether it be serving her breakfast in bed in the morning or some other manner in which he’d pour out his overflowing adoration for her - it was a surprise to them both. “ let me steal you. the flowers have you enough, and i’m painfully jealous of that time. ”
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