It was easy to see, sometimes, when November froze and fell silent, got all locked up in her head and pale and trembling on the outside – she had done it before, swooned in a dead faint. Too late, Porphyria had a consciousness it was going to happen again. She attempted to hold her upright, but November had grasped at her as she buckled, sending Phyri stumbling over her feet and tumbling with her.
She fell heavily and much less gracelessly onto her, no longer holding hands but their bodies more closely entangled, and Phyri suddenly a little dizzied from the Shelley. Wandering companionless, she thought, as if to fill in the rest – but though she related to the verse’s image she could only think in this moment that November Malfoy was more the moon to her.
She probably should have tried to spring up, or at least to ask if November had hurt herself sprawled there under her, but Phyri didn’t move. She was a little too caught up in the poetry of her pale hair against the grass and the earth, enthralled at some dreadful idea of dirtying her, the way she had crumbled soil into clean palms. They had always had a slight height difference but from this angle Porphyria felt just as tall as her, November’s face naturally at eye level as she gazed down. “I was going to show you around the bogs,” she said breathlessly, only partly joking, “but this is – good too.” She was rather comfortable here, lying in the cemetery dirt together.
She fell heavily and much less gracelessly onto her, no longer holding hands but their bodies more closely entangled, and Phyri suddenly a little dizzied from the Shelley. Wandering companionless, she thought, as if to fill in the rest – but though she related to the verse’s image she could only think in this moment that November Malfoy was more the moon to her.
She probably should have tried to spring up, or at least to ask if November had hurt herself sprawled there under her, but Phyri didn’t move. She was a little too caught up in the poetry of her pale hair against the grass and the earth, enthralled at some dreadful idea of dirtying her, the way she had crumbled soil into clean palms. They had always had a slight height difference but from this angle Porphyria felt just as tall as her, November’s face naturally at eye level as she gazed down. “I was going to show you around the bogs,” she said breathlessly, only partly joking, “but this is – good too.” She was rather comfortable here, lying in the cemetery dirt together.
a sublime set by Lady! <3