Lauralae had thought she had known love, once. She had fallen into the trap of affection and tenderness, the promise of a future held in the arms of a lover. She had felt the embrace of a mother and been safe, secure, comforted for all her ills and pains. It had been torn from her, ripped from her, a knife to the stomach and a wound in the mind, and she had thought herself strange and broken.
What is love, she wonders, a soft voice in the back of her mind, claws digging into her heart. Is it this trust, this tenderness, the knowledge that she can offer herself and share herself without shame nor hesitation? Does it have to be more than that, does it have to require any further definition? If she were to love, she thinks it would feel like this: comfort, warmth, sweetness, the tang of blood in the air, the knowledge that she could offer him all she has, and he would be gentle with it.
Leaning in, unable to resist, she presses her lips to his jaw, curling herself against him as best she can. ]
I do. I love you. [ Perhaps not with the depth of romance that is inspired by others, perhaps it is different, but she is sure of it. The warmth she feels cannot be denied, the hope and joy that captivates her in his company. ] I feel it, Armand.
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Lauralae had thought she had known love, once. She had fallen into the trap of affection and tenderness, the promise of a future held in the arms of a lover. She had felt the embrace of a mother and been safe, secure, comforted for all her ills and pains. It had been torn from her, ripped from her, a knife to the stomach and a wound in the mind, and she had thought herself strange and broken.
What is love, she wonders, a soft voice in the back of her mind, claws digging into her heart. Is it this trust, this tenderness, the knowledge that she can offer herself and share herself without shame nor hesitation? Does it have to be more than that, does it have to require any further definition? If she were to love, she thinks it would feel like this: comfort, warmth, sweetness, the tang of blood in the air, the knowledge that she could offer him all she has, and he would be gentle with it.
Leaning in, unable to resist, she presses her lips to his jaw, curling herself against him as best she can. ]
I do. I love you. [ Perhaps not with the depth of romance that is inspired by others, perhaps it is different, but she is sure of it. The warmth she feels cannot be denied, the hope and joy that captivates her in his company. ] I feel it, Armand.