Duck Lake No one dies from love; guess I'll be the first

In this moment she did not want Lestan, with his kind words and his soft kisses and that breathless, consuming, addicting fear he gave her. She wanted the cold air against her cheeks and the snowflakes melting on her skin. She wanted, for a moment, to be free.
And for a moment she was; that was all it felt like, at least. She felt eyes on her. Lestan. Her dance faded away like the evening sun, and she was left with reality once again. His beauty; her fear. She could only look at him and wonder: what is he thinking? Is he afraid, too? His expression felt unreadable to her. Reverie found herself afraid to speak, afraid to ask the question lingering on her lips like a bad aftertaste. Maybe she didn't want to know the answer.