[Be yourself, he'd told her. They should see you as yourself. And with each step they take as they leave their side room and walk forward toward destiny, she feels a little more of her apprehensions melting away — not because she's any less anxious about what waits for them when they step into the moonlight, but because this is how it always is when one walks onto a stage. Fears and doubts melt away to be left behind the curtains, and ahead there is only the performance, only the actor and her wits and the moment.
They step onto the balcony, her left hand in his right. Alucard is tall next to her, and stable, and solemn, and cold.
But she is herself, and in that first moment, taken as she is with the sight of the fae lights and the whole of the city sprawled out below her, an impulse possesses her that she can't hope to restrain —
And won't, because they should see her as herself.
So she raises her free hand, rising up and bending at the elbow to bring the fingertips to touch against her lips for a kiss, and as she sweeps it out again in an arc, it's not an invisible kiss that's blown but a thousand tiny embers of flame, shed across the expanse of the party below like a meteor shower, each one lighting up the darkness for the barest hint of a moment before burning out and settling back again into night.
She doesn't do it for the attention, but it certainly garners it. So, let them see her: the whimsy of the witch, and the solemnity of the vampire, regent and consort looking out over their kingdom and its subjects.]
no subject
They step onto the balcony, her left hand in his right. Alucard is tall next to her, and stable, and solemn, and cold.
But she is herself, and in that first moment, taken as she is with the sight of the fae lights and the whole of the city sprawled out below her, an impulse possesses her that she can't hope to restrain —
And won't, because they should see her as herself.
So she raises her free hand, rising up and bending at the elbow to bring the fingertips to touch against her lips for a kiss, and as she sweeps it out again in an arc, it's not an invisible kiss that's blown but a thousand tiny embers of flame, shed across the expanse of the party below like a meteor shower, each one lighting up the darkness for the barest hint of a moment before burning out and settling back again into night.
She doesn't do it for the attention, but it certainly garners it. So, let them see her: the whimsy of the witch, and the solemnity of the vampire, regent and consort looking out over their kingdom and its subjects.]