04-08-2014, 07:39 AM
"Great Britain is a very different place than Moscow,"
Dane said. Katya's bright smile did little to ease the sting of her discourteous, and incorrect, assessment of family styles. Her rejection of an obviously kind gift did not chafe, but upon the heels of dismissal followed an obvious insult, and Dane wrapped his palm around the candy until the corners dug painful through the gloves. He returned the sweet to his pocket afterward, having replaced the sensation with imagining the bones in her neck digging jagged when he crushed her throat between his hands.
The truer butterfly accepted his gift, and fondness glazed his expression in return. The way her hair fell, matted and tangled from the crown of her head and smattered with paint like her skull had been split with a blunt forced instrument, like a brick or a shovel, it was as though she were ready to die after months of inescapable captivity. There was a beauty to the otherwise mousy color that made a rat's nest of her head. In fact, with the dim light, a single strand of hair coursed, gleaming a few shades lighter than all the rest. Dane was able to follow it from scalp to tip.
He relaxed in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, and gloved fingers laced gently against his lap. He looked between the two girls, assigning internal comparisons between them. Katya, with her sharp tongue and stubborn immaturity, would likely last double the time in captivity before she broke, but Thalia would be a lovely little waif.
"To answer your question, as I assume it is an oddity to pair someone like me taking travel arrangements such as this. I am something of a tourist, and have come to grow fond of the cultural appreciations in Moscow. The ballet. The symphony."
Then he fixed his gaze upon Thalia with a sticky smile, "and the art."
Dane said. Katya's bright smile did little to ease the sting of her discourteous, and incorrect, assessment of family styles. Her rejection of an obviously kind gift did not chafe, but upon the heels of dismissal followed an obvious insult, and Dane wrapped his palm around the candy until the corners dug painful through the gloves. He returned the sweet to his pocket afterward, having replaced the sensation with imagining the bones in her neck digging jagged when he crushed her throat between his hands.
The truer butterfly accepted his gift, and fondness glazed his expression in return. The way her hair fell, matted and tangled from the crown of her head and smattered with paint like her skull had been split with a blunt forced instrument, like a brick or a shovel, it was as though she were ready to die after months of inescapable captivity. There was a beauty to the otherwise mousy color that made a rat's nest of her head. In fact, with the dim light, a single strand of hair coursed, gleaming a few shades lighter than all the rest. Dane was able to follow it from scalp to tip.
He relaxed in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, and gloved fingers laced gently against his lap. He looked between the two girls, assigning internal comparisons between them. Katya, with her sharp tongue and stubborn immaturity, would likely last double the time in captivity before she broke, but Thalia would be a lovely little waif.
"To answer your question, as I assume it is an oddity to pair someone like me taking travel arrangements such as this. I am something of a tourist, and have come to grow fond of the cultural appreciations in Moscow. The ballet. The symphony."
Then he fixed his gaze upon Thalia with a sticky smile, "and the art."