#sacrificeherself

            THE   HOUSE   WAS   EERILY   quiet  when  one  girl  was  separated  from  the  other.   from  the  moment  they’d  arrived  on  their  troika,  they’d  been  attached  at  the  hip,  giggling  and  smiling  as  they  took  in  their  new  surroundings.   now,  it  was  as  if  natasha  had  flown  away,  leaving  poor  sonya  all   ALONE.   briskly,  she  steps  in  the  room,  confronting  the  lesser  known  half  of  the  two.

Marya was resigned to find that she still felt oddly drawn to Sonya, in the same way she had ever since their first meeting. For some reason, she always wanted to gravitate towards her, and it felt like more than just a simple desire to get to know her. On the contrary, it felt like she already knew her on an almost uncomfortable level. Like Sonya had seen her soul. (A BIZARRE thought, to say the least. They hadn't spent too much time together, and definitely not enough for Marya to feel like that.)

But she kept getting these vivid images in her mind (memories?) of her.  Not-quite-Sonya with her glittering eyes barely visible in the dark. There was blood, there was pain, there was blurry laughter, places she'd never been, and words she couldn't make out. It was all so real. She had managed to ignore these so far by brushing them off as silly or unimportant, but this time, something was different.

There was something electric in the air, something new.

The princess couldn't shake the notion that forces beyond her control (God? Fate?) wanted her to head over to Sonya and speak to her right now. So even as she approached, headed for a beginning, there was something FINAL in it too, some sort of closure- for what, she didn't yet know.

Now that she was standing in front of her, it suddenly dawned on Marya that she had nothing to say.

acts of affection // @sacrificeherself

☄ leaning your head on their shoulder while they talk.

    prince andrei has been speaking of nothing of particular importance as he sits with sonya ( natasha having gone away already to dress for dinner ) when he feels her lean against his shoulder ---- and as he does, his words fade into silence. he’s puzzled, and more so, he’s not used to touch, and so this friendly gesture strikes him with profound confusion. perhaps he does realize it as an affectionate thing ---- he calls so often on the rostov household that inevitable, he has spent time with sonya as well as his betrothed ---- yet what response is appropriate eludes him. it is not something he’s able to smile at, but not something which he thinks to push away. and so, caught between these two options, prince andrei decides he must do neither.

         ❛ you have? ❜ her voice is soft, and hazel eyes flit towards the window (the blinds are down, as they always are ), a small frown on her lips. of course he has, it strikes her suddenly, and she flushes with embarrassment at having asked such a useless question. she knows, obviously, that the prince’s tendency to spend the days inside are not exactly his choice, but she still feels rather bad for the man — while she doesn’t go out much herself either, at least she could, if she wanted to.

         ❛ well, ❜ she begins, still looking at the window,  ❛ it’s dark now, i think. ❜ she turns back to him finally, fiddling with the pendant around her neck. ❛ you could always go out now, no?❜   

    “ is there a point? there is as little to do out there as there is in here. ”  prince andrei’s seclusion preceded his inhuman transformation, and each day that he stays in ( and often he did choose not to leave ---- and only roams the streets of moscow to hunt when his body would no longer permit his neglect ) remind him of how awful a disposition it is to have, to prefer loneliness to that overwhelming burden of company. there is no need for sleep, no books left unread, no arguments unwritten. in solitude that he both dreads and dreads losing, he has been here, brooding today, unmotivated and unable to rouse himself to action. rising for sonya alone had taken a certain compelling, a tug of pride that itself is so weary, it itself threatens often to collapse.