Wapun Meadow and I've got one foot in the door

"a sweetheart?" dolce huffed a low, smokey laugh. short, but not heavy. "reckon' you'd be the first to call me that, songbird." with a shake of his head, strained muscles relaxed. he sank into the soft grass with a sigh that betrayed his exhaustion. settling as the woman began to sing. her soft melody a remedy for any pain or ache; he was enraptured. like a sirens song lulling a sailor lost at sea. in awe, that the world had not snuffed her light.

he listened to every word, every lyric. found himself baring a small but genuine, crooked grin at some. others, his expression somber and quiet. stormy. her lullaby both soothed his heart and made it pulse with pain. rala used to sing to him, too, but a terrible, awful part of him admitted that her songs hadn't been so beautiful. not like this. never like this. a song that came so easy to the whimsical woman.

he wouldn't interrupt her. in fact, he wouldn't speak until long after that beautiful voice of hers quieted. and when he did, his voice was deeper. maybe just a tad softer. eyes fallen to stare at the hands that had done so much damage, his plight dancing within them. "that's the...well, it's gotta be the prettiest thing i ever did hear." simple words, but no less honest. no less raw.

he does not feel worthy of it. so convinced that he'd be condemned for his many sins, and that a man like he couldn't ever quite right his wrongs. but she was so sure that he could. and so, for a moment, maybe he'd let himself believe it. "y'got the typa voice to make a bad man believe they can have a good endin', doll." and a spirit he prays the world will not snuff.

he would stay a while. would linger in her presence, her peace, until reality would call to him again. suffer and heartache would grip him once more, but while she was around? well, it didn't hurt so bad.