Since the incident with Erik, Rose had yet to feel safe outside of her place. Jumpy, paranoid, but determined not to let him scare her into isolation, she continued her daily outings as if nothing had happened. She was making her usual trek to the coffee shop - the Saloon was a place she was avoiding at all costs for the time being - when she felt someone grab her elbow. Her newfound paranoia bubbled to the surface and she reacted before she could think, grabbing the offending limb and bending it away from her. âWhat the hell do you-â Her breath hitched and she dropped the arm as if it had burned her - though he was a warlock after all so it wasnât entirely impossible that it wasnât just in her head -
âYou⊠youâre deadâ
In a classic case of fight or flight she could do neither; her feet planted firmly on the ground refusing to move, her hands curled into fists instead of grabbing at the firearm that was only inches from them. She was hit by a tidal wave of emotions, too many for her to process at once so she focused on the ones most prevalent - rage and confusion. How was he here? His spell had failed, her very existence was proof of that. She remembered grieving over his lifeless body, not yet dead long enough to be cold to the touch, had grieved until she had found out that everything between the two of them had been a lie. She had grieved for him after that too.Â
On the long list of things of things unlikely to ever happen, this was right after the zombie apocalypse and alien invasion - and yet there were no zombies or extraterrestrials in sight, just him.Â
After what feels like days of staring, Rose finally managed a semblance of composure, crossing her arms in nonchalance that she is certain isnât reflected in her face, her poker face being reliable of late âSo much for you rotting in hell for eternityâ
Part of the man was surprised it had taken this long for him appear to her properly, and not just doing it on the first day he had arrived back in town. It wasnât like he had exactly needed to build up the courage to bring himself to do it, not even close. In fact, the waiting around had practically made him psychotically anxious, but showing up without sussing things out at all surely would have been a mistake. Not that any of this was going to be sunshine and roses.
âDead man walking, incidentally.â The words sounded so casual as he said them -- almost too relaxed. That wasnât anything like he was feeling, not really. To see the girl in which his mind had kept conjuring images of for years was not in any sense soothing. Not when he knew what he had done to her, what he could still do. It wasnât guilt he felt, but rather an intense recognition of the terrible person he was.
âYou didnât really want that, did you?â Blue eyes were narrowed as they peered at her closely, trying to figure out just what could be going on in that mind of hers. She probably did hate him, but that couldnât be all there was -- Heaven knew it wasnât the case for him.
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stormborns
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