With the exception of the occasional rustle of branches or crunch of dry leaves on the garden floor, the sound of our footsteps seems to be the only sound in this area.
"Thank you for joining me," he replies, sounding winded for some reason.
"the honor is mine." I mutter, not even sure of what he said. I can only think about the life thriving on these grounds—between every branch dances a bird or squirrel, peeping from the shrubs are daises, tulips and—roses. the vivid red could never be hidden no matter how many others tried to cover it. i almost stop in my tracks. but then i mentally scream at myself to not stop, to no show, hide, hide, hide.
Reverting my eyes upwards, i find the sunlight casts a warm glow on the hues of white, across the wide, endless blue. and when i look back down, from the rich brown earth, to the crowns of the towering trees, with their low dipping branches, all i see is beauty, the promise of a childhood long forgotten.
"Is it safe for me to presume you find the flora comforting?"
"or is it the ability to find beauty in everything?" this time i let a smile form, alluring him.
"not many are blessed with such eyes and mind." he whispers, his eyes distant.
"are you?" i inquire, my voice casual. he doesn't respond instantly, instead lets a silence settle.
"i am afraid so."
"and yet yo do not seem too pleased about it, your grace." i leave the question hanging.
"that makes the two of us, doesn't it?
"hm. it seems so."
the conversation doesn't go as i thought it would; he doesn't silently order a servant to take me back to my quarters. instead, he continues on, introducing to me some of the plants he had said to grow himself.
he also tells me a story about magic. it's legend i once heard from my mother, but it seemed to happen a lifetime ago so i listen. but something's off, not his gentle voice, but the way he tells the tale. something whispers in me that this is not how the myth goes. over and over.
his voice is doesn't hide his interest in the matter but when he finishes, but he brushes it off, saying, "the tale was a thread long lost,"
i don't know what compels me to say, "i know how to weave," i swear i see him smile at me.
"will that be a yes to my invite?"
YOU ARE READING
𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬↝ᵗᵃᵉʳᵒˢᵉ
Fanfictionalt. title: [his escape] ❝ ѕoмeтιмeѕ, тнe pυrpoѕe oғ тнe тнorn ιѕ тo ѕιмply draw aттenтιon тo тнe roѕe. ❞ She was his; his escape, his happy place. She was trapped. No way out. Not anymore. a taerosé fanfiction. idols as face claim...
