𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 difference between a sin and a clandestine longing? A yearning that pulses silently beneath the surface, sheltered away from a place where love is tightly defined and drawn by ancient hands. Can a heart so full and so p...
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୨⎯ ༻♛༺ ⎯୧
TOUCH IS A WONDERFUL THING. The beauty in holding hands skin to skin, in caressing one's cheeks with delicacy, in embracing another in a hug that makes their chests press and warmth spread like a benign wildfire. It is a beautiful thing, and Siena truly does search for it with whoever she adores. Arms interlocked, playful nudges, or things as simple as helping brush off some dust off someone's cheek— she is always reaching for contact, because it reminds her of how human she is and how magnificent that is. But Siena also knows touch way too well to know which one does not feel familiar.
That is the touch she isn't as fond of.
It has been two days since the tragedy of the Featherington Ball and the girl's head is almost fully healed. The only trails of the events are left on a bruise on her left cheekbone that has extended up the corner of her eye. It's colored a deep purple, with the outlines a rash of red and the corner of her eye slightly swollen. But other than that, there have been no further symptoms, only those of a bored soul forced to lay and rest for the entirety of 48 hours.
"So you are certain you do not feel unwell? No blurriness in the vision, no lightheadedness, no loss of hearing?" The physician asks, prying her eyelids open as the girl leans away from his touch— the foreign touch she does not enjoy.
"I am certain," she sighs, looking up at her parents, who stand at the foot of her bed, "Can I continue my book now?"
"The doctor is only making sure you are good to be on your feet, darling," Lady DeLuca walks to the side of her bed, her hand gently caressing the side of her face, "A hit to the face so hard against concrete can be severe if not properly treated."
The lie they had made up to cover for her brother makes her clear her throat, forcing out a small smile and nodding, "Of course."
The woman then turns to the physician with that polite smile and nods him out of the room, "I will get a servant to escort you, doctor."
Lord DeLuca shoots his daughter a playful wink before walking after the doctor and her mama, leaving the girl back in the serenity of her room. The warm rays of the sunset enter her room and glaze her tall cheekbones— including the gruesome colors that paint her skin on her left side. Her eyes, swimming in the pigments of the sky, look back down at the book in her hands and the frown returns to her lips. Her gaze merely skims over the words, unable to fully concentrate on their meaning, for her mind is drifting elsewhere.
Her face is on everything she's done. From the moment she awakened and her blue eyes were towering over her, to the second time she awoke and those same blue eyes were nowhere to be seen. Siena has waited for hours, every time her door opens she perks up thinking it will be her. But she hasn't brightened her doorstep yet, her atlantic spheres and her coral lips haven't beamed her way since the night of the incident and that has deeply sorrowed her.
