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Under Your Scars


Criala
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Another patron entered the tavern of Elvenesse. A mali’ame man whose green gaze scanned the interior of the building. It was empty, except for a figure that was tucked into the way back corner, away from all the other tables. He didn’t approach yet though, taking a few minutes to observe her. Her attention was on a piece of parchment in front of her on the table, her back facing the wall.

 

It was something he’d noticed about her in the decades since he first met her. She never sat with her back to open spaces, and she often preferred to be by herself rather than in a large crowd. It may have come off as stand-offish or cold to others, but he knew better.

 

The first time he met her came to mind. A neutral expression on her face, but there was a pain in her eyes that was unmistakable. Her guard was up, and it was easy for him to see. The first time he saw it down was when he walked into the Aegrothond tavern in Arcas one day. A soft melody came from within, accompanied by a voice just as soft singing along to it. She had looked so at peace there, and his feet took him to the piano side. That was when he saw the women behind the mask. A woman who was lost and struggling to keep herself together. 

 

It was hard to believe how long ago that was, thinking back on it. The woman he first met was a different person than the one in that corner now, though there were pieces of that woman which lingered. The scars under the surface remained and hints of the pain that used to plague her. Not that he was surprised. It was expected with the past that haunted her and what she went through.

 

The look on her face changed ever so slightly, and he knew the meaning of it right away. Pulled back to where she was once again that lost woman, where her cries for help were hidden behind the walls she used to protect herself. Times where she was still struggling to keep herself from drowning and losing herself.

 

Without a second thought, at the sight of that shift in her expression, he strode forward to close the distance between himself and the table. By the time he was sliding himself into the seat beside her, she seemed to snap out of it. But that didn’t change anything. His hand still sought out hers to curl around it, which caused her head to turn from the parchment to look at him. Green met turquoise. He would always do what he could to keep her head above water, to keep her from drowning under her scars.

 

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Art by Wolf-Fram

 

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Thank you to @Auswolffor letting me write Taal!

 

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