i couldn't decide between [ braid ] and [ fight ] so dealer's choice!
The contrast was almost unsettling. Senna’s cannon within easy reach against the wall, Lucian’s guns poised on the rickety desk, a chair wedged under the door handle, curtains drawn across the window, and yet here they were. Senna’s hair undone, Lucian’s cloak tossed over the headboard, their dinner half-eaten on a small table. His hands were on her head, twining thick strands of hair together with a gentleness and familiarity that made her heart ache. Her usual metal adornments were piled neatly nearby on the threadbare blanket, and everything was, for once, genuinely calm.
Somehow it felt utterly right and dreadfully wrong at the same time, and oh how familiar that feeling was. Every night without a battle, every day they were able to stay in one place, this had been their reality. Quiet nights of domesticity and wariness blended together until one couldn’t be told from the other.
She sighed softly and leaned backwards as Lucian capped off a braid with its metal ornament, resting her head in his lap and pulling one of his free hands to her chest.
I wonder if my heart beats anymore. If it ever does, it should be now. Did I lose that too?
