soon enough, her body is unwound to pry her touch away from him, settling back into the familiar pattern. shaw speaks of her like he knows her, down to the bone, and she sighs. nimble, slight fingers reach for the hem of her white gown and begin to rub at the fabric restlessly.
guilt, uncertainty, and all the rest of it is interrupted by his compliment and she breathes the softest laugh. her body sways, only slightly, not out of his reach but enough to hide her smile from him.
"you're the only one who sees it, you know." there's pride in her voice. there normally is, when she speaks to her brother, but especially so now, as she thinks of how he loves her.
cyril would be scandalized by the way she allows a body so precious to be touched by a man so far from his ideas of enlightenment. he would say that whatever beauty he admires in her, dorothy has no claim to it. it's only shaw that sees this beauty as her. ironclad as ever, cyril's judgment bolts itself into the back of her mind.
"the rest, they, uh..." perhaps she shouldn't speak of it. she swallows thickly. there's a quick shake of her head and then dorothy leans into him, resting herself against his chest, her eyes shut.
"i hope i'm not so different now. i think i was..." off in the distance, nestled between the trees, a girl walks hand in hand with a boy. she sees it, even as her eyes are shut, and she wonders if he can see it too. "i think i was good back then..."
"I think so, too." His fingers work deftly, nearly done. "Dad always said so, anyway. But I was happy with you..." Shaw's brows furrowed, his hand pausing momentarily in its work. He corrected himself with an: "...I remember being happy with you."
He wasn't sure if it made a difference.
It'd be easier if Shaw had more concrete memories of who he was when Dorothy was with him, or of who they were together. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew'd been happy then. And what he felt now-- sat with his sister in this dreamy meadow, putting flowers in her hair-- was a mix of memory and something new. it felt right to think she brought him joy. He may have never had the dexterity to do this for Dorothy before, but staying with her like this felt like the only place he'd ever truly belong.
Finishing the braid, Shaw lifted it ever so slightly towards himself to kiss it. This was sacred because it was Dorothy he did it for.
"Here," he said, gently sweeping his art over Dorothy's shoulder. His fingertips brushed the side of her neck as he pulled away, more for fascination's sake than anything else.
"What do you think? Not bad, right?" Shaw's smile was boyish. His hand, not wanting to let his sister go, moved to rest over Dorothy's hip.
















