#firinghand

        HE WAS SPECIAL. She had never required what was seen as PROPER ETIQUETTE from Raynold, nor did she desire it. No, leave that to the other knights and staff members that held very little meaning to her. They all clamored for a place in her heart, though their fight was in vain. The entirety of her heart and soul had long been given to the man kneeling before her, though he was surely unaware. There was no one else she trusted more — no one who had seen nearly as much of her as he had. Even now, she could allow herself to be vulnerable with him. He held no ridiculous expectations of her ( no SPARKLING IDEOLOGIES about her character ). He accepted her for what she was.

IMPERFECT.

Reclining against silk pillows, she allowed DISCOMFORT to show clearly upon her delicate features as her arms nursed her bandaged abdomen. She was foolish for allowing herself to be so badly hurt, but with just one look at the other’s face, she knew already it was not HER that he blamed. Though she had said it many times, he had not seemed to understand it. She could never sit by and watch him be hurt, even if it was his job to protect her. It wasn’t uncommon for attempts on her life to be made ( especially recently ), and when she had witnessed her attackers get the upper hand, she had not allowed herself to think. His blood had been on their hands, and it fueled a fire inside her that could not be extinguished until the ones responsible had met their end. If only she was STRONGER. As a result of her negligence, she had been harmed and Raynold had been left with more to worry about than before. 

Glancing in his direction, she felt a knot form in her chest at the sight of his GUILT. When she could bear it no longer, she found her gaze returning to her hands as they rested in her lap. She sighed.

     ❝ Ah… Raynold, would you mind adjusting my pillows for me? I        can’t quite get comfortable. ❞

Finding it much easier to issue a request rather than outright asking him to come closer, she waited for his inevitable cooperation. It only took a moment before he was leaning over her, doing as she had asked with an easy obedience that spoke more of voluntary DESIRE than a sense of DUTY. She had always secretly wondered why Raynold stayed by her side, adhering to even her most ridiculous wishes — for she would never DEMAND anything of him, but found herself much too embarrassed to ask. Perhaps she was merely afraid of the answer. If anything, she was content believing he remained with her simply because he WANTED to.

With his body so close, she found difficulty in breathing, but as he finished his task and began to move away, she felt herself reaching out. Taking hold on his wrist, allowing no more distance to be made ( to be put BETWEEN them ), she swallowed her anxieties and spoke.

     ❝ You are aware this is… this is but MY fault, don’t you, Raynold?        Please, tell me you know that… ❞

Without permission, a calm tone had become desperate as lithe fingers gripped tighter, tugging him ever closer by the fabric of his sleeve. She could no longer allow such sorrows to be felt. No, she did not wish to see REGRET in his eyes when he looked at her. Even with the pain she felt, she sat up and leaned towards him, ignoring his protests and worries. While her hold on him remained, she lifted her unoccupied hand which had been twisted in the sheets and placed it against his cheek, touch terribly gentle as if handling fragile glass ( something PRECIOUS ). She smiled then, almost amused by his utter shock.

     ❝ These wounds will HEAL Raynold. I am no worse off than I was        before. WE are no worse off. ❞