NOW, HE THOUGHT, THIS WAS IT. HIS DEATH. HIS DEMISE. HIS MURDER, AND THAT GIRL WOULD BE THE DEATH OF HIM.
It was, now, their next meeting. A week after they'd met last but a week had been enough for them, as both of them (as he'd suspected she would not exactly be... free, based on the furious scribbling she showed in front of him often) were rather busy.
But a week without her, and a week waiting for the woman who he waited for.... that, he hated. Was this what attraction felt like? He had pitied Kaeya for his bursts of moaning about how someone had gone and done something, how there was a girl and another girl and lots of girls, perhaps, but he understood, now, even a quarter of that feeling. A quarter of the fire that flew out of him as every touch sent electricity sparking.
Ivory hair. Skin the color of fresh parchment, her fingers smooth against his and ready to unravel as though he would a scroll; touch of eyes so blue he could dive into them, and a sweet mouth that he begged would kiss him.
That was her and he waited, a long time.
Too long, he'd thought. He'd done anything, anything to forget about this curse that felt so strange and so new; something about wanting someone, could not even be replaced with the piles upon piles of work he drowned himself in. He'd finished at least two weeks' worth in four days and it was simply not enough.
He needed her, or at least something closest to her: like a picture. He'd heard of something, a Kamera, that could take people's 'photos' and print them out- a direct replica, like a more accurate drawing. He would get one, he decided, because maybe he was never satisfied with just drawing her in his head. Even though he could: every inch, almost as accurately as he had seen her yesterday. Diluc was an intelligent man, and he knew better than others what this was, and why this was.
She'd told him, last, about some business in Mond. He seemed to wonder what she was doing every second his life ticked past.
And this hellish week was over; leaving just the notion of her, her so tantalizingly close yet so far away. Free from the bounds of the Dawn Winery, to be drawn back into her. Just the same word written over his mind like a manuscript copied a thousand times over.
Helena, Helena, Helena.
He knew her last name now, from the registered list of those living on the third floor. Helena Saturnalius, and Troye the writer. Her name repeated like an echo, again and again against his lips. Sweeter than any wine he'd ever tasted and twice as addictive.
They had chosen here to meet again: in the Dandelion field, somewhere she had said her friend knew: somewhere he knew only barely. It was good, he admitted, and it would do him no harm to come to places like these a bit more often instead of staying inside all the time. Fresh air and a hand to hold, a sun that shone against his face.
And that- that, in the distance, was her. No doubt about it. The sole person his impatient self would wait for a hundred nights over.
She came closer, and closer, and closer: and finally, Helena Saturnalius was back.
"Good afternoon!" She greeted, and smiled.
She was wearing a sundress today: white and yellow and blue and green, matching the color of dandelions spread out against the grassy field overlooking a clear sky. A perfect day and a perfect girl to match, scuffed sandals she had matched with the sunhat perched on her head treading on the grass ever so softly as though trying not to hurt them. She had coloured her lips soft pink to match and he wanted to kiss her, to see how it tasted.
He could feel nothing. Just a numb something, in space, utterly enchanted in black magic and unrecognizable witchcraft of a girl who seemed to know nothing of it.
YOU ARE READING
𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ; diluc ragnvindr
Romance𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ; She is his muse, his first breath, his morning star- an anomaly in the stillness of his life. She makes alcohol taste sweet, and small talk feel like verses of beautiful poetry. She is Helena Saturnalius, and she is his first an...
