[ There is nothing within her that is concerned with Armand's closeness, his ability to peer into her mind, to see more than she might share with her words; she knows it is easier to offer that than it is to try and put it into something with her voice. Sharing the grief and losses of her past are a strange and dangerous thing, and she is doing her utmost to ensure that she is focused on comforting him, on not dragging him down with her own misery.
She is happier here than she has been anywhere else, and she cannot even try to deny it, not when her heart is so warm and filled with tenderness. She is a wolf, and Armand is her pack, and she would bare her neck to him and offer her beating heart if she thought it would ease the aches within him. There is adoration that is flourishing inside of her, a warmth and desire to please and care that she cannot deny, because that is what he means to her.
Perhaps he understands it, even if her words are hoarse and lost in her throat.
Leaning in, she sighs softly. The touch to her ears makes them twitch, a soft flush to her cheeks, but she does not chase it; instead, her dark eyes focus on him and nothing else. ]
I remember. She owns my soul, but not my heart, nor my spirit. I am more myself here, and I would take that strength with me.
[ Turning her head, she presses her face against his hand, his wrist. ]
We are who and what we are, and that is a choice that we can make. If you had me help you remember, then tell me what you would wish me know. What words would anchor your heart?
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She is happier here than she has been anywhere else, and she cannot even try to deny it, not when her heart is so warm and filled with tenderness. She is a wolf, and Armand is her pack, and she would bare her neck to him and offer her beating heart if she thought it would ease the aches within him. There is adoration that is flourishing inside of her, a warmth and desire to please and care that she cannot deny, because that is what he means to her.
Perhaps he understands it, even if her words are hoarse and lost in her throat.
Leaning in, she sighs softly. The touch to her ears makes them twitch, a soft flush to her cheeks, but she does not chase it; instead, her dark eyes focus on him and nothing else. ]
I remember. She owns my soul, but not my heart, nor my spirit. I am more myself here, and I would take that strength with me.
[ Turning her head, she presses her face against his hand, his wrist. ]
We are who and what we are, and that is a choice that we can make. If you had me help you remember, then tell me what you would wish me know. What words would anchor your heart?