ATOM.

faltineish:

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Here in this swirling ether, each traveling on their own separate mission – they’re frozen at the other’s sight.   ` Stephen… ´ it echoes, laden with innumerable things tangible even without the inherit magic of their surroundings. She wonders if she looks as haggard as she feels, if he can read her like she always could him, if he even wants to anymore.

Of course he does. She knows Stephen like she knows herself, better even.  She knows like breathing that he cares, that he wants to know. It’s been so hard for them to talk over the years, both so busy and the connection between planes so fickle. Every time she sees him she can see that growing desperation, that this could be the last time they meet and he has to grasp it now. She wonders if it’s reflected in her, if he sees that in her as well. She’s lost touch with that clear, honest part of herself in all these years futilely fighting the tide that was her uncle. 

But Stephen’s shoulders are still broad– the feel resting her head on them fresh, his legs still long and shapely– she’d spent plenty of time admiring them while still his apprentice, and his eyes– oh…,

Oh, Stephen. Her Stephen. Here.

Her chest aches dully, the hole there a little more sharp.  

s.c. // @xstrange

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              the sound of a voice long since memorized the sorcerer froze in place — breath held as discolored eyes stared in thinly veiled disbelief. here they were, meeting once more and one again he wondered if this would be the last time he saw the light of his world.. the woman whom he gave his soul to, the woman whom held his heart.

wordless was he as his expression softened incredibly so — eyes searching her for any sort of displacement, scanning her to make sure that she was okay. she looked as beautiful as the day he met her; so beautiful that the earth’s sun reflected off of her, creating a shine that he saw within her, showing the world that she was as beautiful as the stars they wished upon. she looked tired.. something the two of them would share, the sorcerer supreme’s dark circles evident — he hasn’t been sleeping, as of late. how could he? — for he was cold without her warm radiance.

he had so much he wished to say, so much he wished to atone for, to beg her for forgiveness like a dying man to a priest — she was his wold, and he had to stop himself from moving closer, holding himself from holding her

“   beloved,      his voice was rough, deepened with exhaustion and age.

he was old enough now, that he did not care to waste his breath. he would tell her now, that she still was just that — loved.