“I am so sorry, Jason.”
In the time Jason passed on his father’s lands, Talia’s face never aged for even a day. Her beauty seemed to be locked in, like a rose in a glass dome. But, nevertheless all her fairness, Jason would always thought there was something broken, forever stuck onto Talia’s face; a kind of sourceless sorrow deep into her eyes, forged with her soul.
And, for all Jason’s motherly love for Talia, grown over the years upon her many visits from Mordor, he couldn’t ever understand how Bruce managed to look at her for too long. Couldn’t he see the attached pain on the underneath of her gaze? In the fall of her delicate brown eyelashes, or in the never-quite-right height in the curve of her lips when she smiled?
Perhaps it was why Dick never seemed to click, or to like her—perhaps why he didn’t always click in with Bruce, as well.
However, this time, Talia’s eyes weren’t hiding the grief inside. As Jason’s fever-derived eyes mirrored into hers, the pain wasn’t floating adrift, but clear as the shore’s waters at Rivendell's cascades, not hiding in plain sight, but there for anyone to see.
Talia smoothed his sweaty brow, and her fingers found its way to brush off his sweaty curls from his nape. Talia inclined down, her necklaces making a soft tingling sound, her perfume filling in the air. Softly, her lips touched his cheek, warmth finally blooming through his skin.
Then, she whispered. “I didn’t agree with it.”
And, as softly as she came, Talia pulled back, all the warmth fading away alongside her perfume upon his skin.
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