He likes the way she blushes, how cute it is, the way she threatens to hex him. It's sweet, and at least there, he smiles. But when she asks him to focus . . .
He takes a seat. And yes, he sits like a prince, like a king on his throne or a cat on its perch. But his smile is somewhere else, somewhere far away. He is not looking at her, even when his voice, melodious and sweet, slips down into the shadow registers of its velvet tones.
"Friends and home, hm? I suspect it's a little different when you've reached my age, when you've lived this long and seen time pass by. Every memory of someone I've loved? It contains the memory thought of death that followed. Every triumph contains its fading. Every purity holds its corruption.
"Nothing stays a happy memory over a hundred years. Everything just turns . . . grey. Bittersweet. So you see, that pretty blush on your cheek now is my best chance. I haven't lost it yet."
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He takes a seat. And yes, he sits like a prince, like a king on his throne or a cat on its perch. But his smile is somewhere else, somewhere far away. He is not looking at her, even when his voice, melodious and sweet, slips down into the shadow registers of its velvet tones.
"Friends and home, hm? I suspect it's a little different when you've reached my age, when you've lived this long and seen time pass by. Every memory of someone I've loved? It contains the memory thought of death that followed. Every triumph contains its fading. Every purity holds its corruption.
"Nothing stays a happy memory over a hundred years. Everything just turns . . . grey. Bittersweet. So you see, that pretty blush on your cheek now is my best chance. I haven't lost it yet."