The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.
Nova watched with deep consternation as Miss Dempsey's reaction to her words played out on her face. It didn't help that she was already self-conscious about her choice of vocabulary. Sweet wasn't incorrect, it wasn't even far off from what she'd meant but it lacked a certain nuance she couldn't put her finger on exactly. The word she wanted floated somewhere in the vicinity of sweet, attentive, chivalrous, safe... And what underlined all of these things was her surprise at finding them in Miss Dempsey's character of all people. Not that she'd thought her to be the opposite of such attributes but she'd thought Miss Dempsey to be too aloof, too wild, too free to be weighed down by the earthly concerns of other mortals.
She thought she observed the telltale signs of a blush in Miss Dempsey's face and forced herself to look away before she could be absolutely certain. What did it signify if she was indeed blushing? Of course she was eager to overthink it, she was so wrapped up in her romantic notions that she was creating significance where there was none. How foolish of her! Miss Dempsey had every reason to flush, the entire situation had been awkward since she'd irresponsibly lost her wits and wilted like a hothoused flower.
Still, it surprised her to hear that 'sweet' wasn't something Miss Dempsey was often called. Then again on second thought the word had seemed like a poor fit, it only seemed odd for a moment because Nova was quite used to being called 'sweet' herself.
Could she stand indeed? Honestly she wasn't sure but she was also unwilling to say anything to the contrary and make a strange situation worse. Nova took Miss Dempsey's hand in hers like she was being forced to crush a butterfly by doing so. Despite her tentative and rather uneasy grip of Miss Dempsey's hand, Nova was miraculously back on her feet mere seconds later. Thank you. She murmured this more to her wrist than Miss Dempsey herself. Her hand seemed to have forgotten how to politely extract itself - her fingers had gone mostly slack as if she'd given up halfway while her thumb clearly hadn't received the memo. Realizing how weird it might seem to Miss Dempsey who was sure to notice any moment - if she hadn't already - she suddenly slipped her hand free and clasped it in her own.
Outfit | Tag: Porphyria Dempsey | Notes:
