the girl who lost it all [d.m]

thirty eight: muto

muto: change, alter, transform

———

ELARA awoke at noon.

It took her a moment to remember everything that had happened last night—running into the forest, curling up on the ground for hours, feeling like her entire world had been fractured and then set on fire.

And then Draco had appeared.

She sat up in bed, her heart suddenly racing, her eyes sweeping the room.

Draco.

But the space in the armchair was empty—and the bathroom door was still open, the inside silent.

Had he left during the night? Had he even slept? Maybe he'd left as soon as he was sure she'd fallen asleep. Maybe he hadn't really wanted to stay.

Elara tried to fight off the embarrassment that reared up in her as the events of last night finally set in. Merlin, she'd been a mess. She had sobbed all over him and climbed onto his lap like a fucking koala.

Drawing in a deep breath, she padded over to the bathroom, trying to think of something other than the fact that she'd practically been a train wreck in front of him last night.

Out of everyone, it had to be him? The most controlled, indifferent person she knew? He'd probably laughed at her histrionics in his head.

Her face heated and she shook her head, trying to focus on brushing her teeth. But the bathtub in the corner of her vision only brought back the way he'd helped her bathe, the surprising gentleness in his fingers as he'd undid the tangles in her hair, picked out leaves and rinsed out the dirt.

How he'd dragged the loofah over her skin, so patient and proper, never letting his hands stray even though she could feel how he was holding himself back. And even when she'd goaded him, when she'd prodded him, he hadn't taken the opportunity. He'd only told her to think on it, said some other things that had made her stomach clench and then withdrawn.

Her shower was quick. She didn't want to stay in there any longer than she had to—not when it reminded her of every soft touch, every word that had slipped off his tongue.

A look in the mirror had her grimacing. Her face was still bruised—but tiny cuts now tainted the skin of her cheekbones, her throat, the sides of her neck. Identical ones dotted along her arms and legs where her skin had been exposed to thorns and branches as she'd raced through the woods.

It probably wasn't her brightest moment—but she had been overwhelmed and had just needed to get out, get somewhere far away. She hadn't even thought about how she'd find her way back or what dangers she was putting herself in by being out past the Apparition Wards in the dead of the night.