[ in another life, she would have shied from it. scurried away as mice were meant to, burrowing into holes to go unnoticed. no good would have ever come from catching the eye of a boy in the first army — or girl, her mind unhelpfully chimes, with the phantom memory of yelena's soft kiss. nothing but the inevitable heartbreak, but her paranoia poisoning every encounter, knowing it would only be a matter of time before —
before they turned away from her in the light of day, like an ugly, shameful secret to be kept in the dark. before they remarked on her face, unable to pretend it was a portrait of beauty, when they had been taught to hate the shape of her eyes. before it became another part of her to mock — a raw piece of herself she had known not to leave unguarded, vulnerable to cruel hands, too fragile to endure being mishandled.
but this isn't another life, and she isn't that girl anymore, bending her head to the ground. praying, against all odds, that she would remain unnoticed — finding loneliness to be preferable to make ripples through the encampment, through the world. all that had ever brought was attention as sharp and malicious as a knifepoint.
rather than flinch, she cocks a daring eyebrow, as bold as the light that dwells within her. and though it's mostly sincere, there's a nagging insecurity lodged at the back of her mind, that whispers this is silly — that it's possible clara, too, has found her worthy of being mocked. it's a stupid little thought, alina tells herself; clara has only ever been as warm as the bonfire that kisses alina's cheeks, that dances shadows across the bridge of clara's nose — and the stripe of pink, there, that alina's eyes target. ]
You must think highly of your kisses. [ her mouth dimples, grin widening, as though it can't contain her amusement any longer. arrogance isn't so unfamiliar to her; rhysand rules over cockiness as though it were his kingdom, a similar charm to clara's — an easy confidence alina finds herself envying. she leans forward like it's a dare that needs to be issued, brazen and reckless. surely clara will be the one to fold with a little laugh of surrender. ] What makes you believe a kiss is a worthy trade?
cw: vague refs to racism
before they turned away from her in the light of day, like an ugly, shameful secret to be kept in the dark. before they remarked on her face, unable to pretend it was a portrait of beauty, when they had been taught to hate the shape of her eyes. before it became another part of her to mock — a raw piece of herself she had known not to leave unguarded, vulnerable to cruel hands, too fragile to endure being mishandled.
but this isn't another life, and she isn't that girl anymore, bending her head to the ground. praying, against all odds, that she would remain unnoticed — finding loneliness to be preferable to make ripples through the encampment, through the world. all that had ever brought was attention as sharp and malicious as a knifepoint.
rather than flinch, she cocks a daring eyebrow, as bold as the light that dwells within her. and though it's mostly sincere, there's a nagging insecurity lodged at the back of her mind, that whispers this is silly — that it's possible clara, too, has found her worthy of being mocked. it's a stupid little thought, alina tells herself; clara has only ever been as warm as the bonfire that kisses alina's cheeks, that dances shadows across the bridge of clara's nose — and the stripe of pink, there, that alina's eyes target. ]
You must think highly of your kisses. [ her mouth dimples, grin widening, as though it can't contain her amusement any longer. arrogance isn't so unfamiliar to her; rhysand rules over cockiness as though it were his kingdom, a similar charm to clara's — an easy confidence alina finds herself envying. she leans forward like it's a dare that needs to be issued, brazen and reckless. surely clara will be the one to fold with a little laugh of surrender. ] What makes you believe a kiss is a worthy trade?