She wanted the impossible. (But why was it impossible, some small, pointed voice in the back of her mind inquired idly. Was it because of status? Blood? Reputation? And did those things really matter in the end?)
Poppy squashed the thought process before it could manage to take full form. She peeled back just enough to run an embarrassed hand across her cheeks, leaving a warm mark in its wake, but continued to hold just as tightly to Kristoffer’s cloak.
He was responding to the affirmative, a desperate look flashing in brilliant blue eyes. Even in the pre-dawn light they were strikingly beautiful and more expressive than one might imagine on first glance. But Poppy knew. Poppy could read the sincerity radiating off Kristoffer in waves. His energy captivated her and everything inside the diminutive brunette screamed to accept him even as tears continued to dribble.
“Is that a proposal Mr. Lestrange?”
The statement came out half question, half tease, garbled as it was behind her blubbering and half a laugh. Poppy could hardly imagine what she was on about herself, only that she wasn’t sure what he could be asking either. In whatever rational part of her brain remained, she meant it in jest— as an opening quandary for him to explain better what it was he meant. In the very overwhelmingly emotional, wistful, fantastical part of her brain, Poppy couldn’t help but wonder—
She half expected him to just kiss her and let sleeping dogs lie. But on the marginal chance he would resent her for not letting him speak his mind, she held off doing the very same just for a moment.
© Fox