Wapun Meadow victorian writer 2 steps away from dying of brain fever

They were pressed for time, in more ways than one, she knew; still, his previous keenness had shivered through her. At least it’d helped her along with quieting, anyways; in the lull after he uttered her name, the silver took a steadying breath, eyes carefully crescenting open. When her gaze found him once more, his own studied the horizon. And then he spoke once more.

Eventually, the previous irrationality eased from her figure and stole away the searing warmth of embarrassment from her body. Instead, though, came a warbly confusion to meet his apologetic glance; but the reasoning for it came soon enough. 

Rusalka. 

Plush ears bedded down in a pale ruff, and where once bleary humiliation had been writ upon that scarred face, now there was only consideration; belying an inscrutable gentleness. “You—?” At once, she edged closer to Verx on steadied, coltish limbs — argent eyes passing over that dark face, looking for something even she didn’t know.

Marred lips parted, as if yearning to say something, but she couldn’t find the words to express... what she didn’t know to feel. Perhaps it’d arise sometime soon, when she wasn’t lingering so close to him — but then, Aure turned from him, biting a lip, the inside of her cheek, wavered back a few steps.

Finally, all she could ever come up with through this haze that’s befallen her mind: “Rusalka?” A pause. Then, thoughts stuttering, “I mean— I miss ze sea, and I’ve always wanted our children to grow there. Be born there,” she stept towards him again, her figure hesitant, “and I am glad that you have told me, now.”

There was so much more she wanted to say, but the words just wouldn’t form into something coherent. She halted before him once more, her gaze falling to his dark chest as her thoughts listed. At the present, she wasn’t sure what to ask— to even say, aside from, “This plan of yours... is...?” Fell silent, unsure of what she even meant to ask.