rage at his deception , once white hot and coursing through royal blood as though lava , has cooled now , tempered by growing distance and realizations of fondness . flippant words that would have once been ready and waiting have evaporated , leaving only an inability to voice her innermost thoughts . fingers curl in on themselves , lips thinned between teeth as the lost princess searches for the right words to say , masking a start at being addressed by a title she has only recently reclaimed as her own .
‘ you don ’ t ever have to call me that . dmitry , i … ’ there is a truth to be told , here and now , if only between the two of them . the grand duchess chokes on the words before her lips begin to form them . ‘ uh , thank you . thank you for … everything . ’
Brows furrow, eyes slits as Dmitry adamantly shakes his head. “Oh, but I do. Y—you found where you belong. What was once a game well … now it’s reality.” Short, dirtied nails dig against tanned flesh of palms / BITTERSWEET smile tugging ‘pon dry lips. So much left u n s a i d && the conman’s baited breath left no room to make even more of a FOOL of himself.
“It’s the title you’ve deserve, && from someone like me, its how you should, how you WILL be addressed.” A shuffle of his feet, it’s time. Her words, whether truthful or n o t were too painful to bare ( the weight on his shoulders dragging him back to the gutter already ). Hands slick along his bag’s strap before he pauses. A tilt of the chin, bend at the hip, DMITRY BOWS. “I’ll always ——” L O V E Y O U . “Think of you.” He straightens, spinning on his heel ( don’t look back, can’t look back ).
(Source: wallopener)
