@foglands: maybe it’s better this way.
kostia looks up from the furs running through her fingers, and then down again upon meeting leksa's gaze. she had expected nothing less than steel; the softness of her tone does nothing to melt it. she digs her nails into her palms, silences the cry of constriction in her throat and smooths out the dishevelled blanket.
she has not spoken yet.
leksa was not the young girl kostia had known, not anymore. she knows that leksa bears it, bears the weight of the coalition and stops it cracking from the centre. knows that her back is littered with scars; she could count them before. individually, tracing raised skin in the fresh dew of grass, stretched out, intertwined from the hip. she'd make crowns of baby’s breath, place them atop leksa's brunette tresses, and press a kiss there, and there, and everywhere. then she would laugh, songful and the blackbirds would join in for the chorus.
but kostia has learned that flower crowns aren't as pretty sheathed in blood. and the birds don’t sing so sweet.
carefully, she stands, and smooths out the fur again. her hands come clasped in front, but her fingers twitch with ache. they don't respond. she looks over to leksa again, still quiet and unmoving. until she nods.
"ait, heda." leksaleksaleksaleksa.
kostia closes the gap between them a moment later. she says nothing, but leans in to her cheek, basks in the comfort of her skin and then pulls away. "ai hod yu in," follows, tucked into the silence and the sentences better left unsaid.
she doesn't ask for dismissal. and beyond the doors of leksa’s bedroom, her face crumples.