written by inhonoredglory
He always knew she was not what she seemed.
He first saw her when he was only five or six. At least, that's when he first remembered her. It was cold and sharp on that winter's day, and he didn't want to go home. He crossed the village, found a house where maybe he could get warm. But outside the door he stopped, heard crying, a small gentle crying somewhere inside. Through the crack in the door he couldn't see much, hear much or know, yet in the tones of their voices, he could tell. Her mother was somehow frustrated with her, her father was telling her, in a voice so grave and solemn, what not to do, why it was so important. She looked frightened, yet even more she looked sad, sad in a way that resigned and never grew bright. He could feel that much… through the crack in the door.
And that feeling was oddly familiar. He'd had it all his life. Sneaking outside, to watch the lightning, feel the thunder and rain, to play in the deep ocean, to explore the leaves and trees and the great outdoors. And to watch the dragons light their fires in the night and send the village scrambling. He was fascinated.
But his father was not and he stayed inside, watched the lightning from the inside, watched the dragons and the night from the cracks in the door. To keep him safe, because he could never be like the others.
But that morning by her doorstep, he got that feeling she was different, too, just like him. Maybe her parents wanted her to be tough and strong, like he was supposed to be.
Maybe she really wasn't.
But she was never again like she was that day. Whenever he saw her, she was strong and threatening. She was always bold and decisive. The weeks turned into months, and the months, into years, and he never did see a moment in her like that first time he saw her.
Yet deep inside he knew there was something different about her.
As she grew more and more beautiful, as her hair flowed longer and blonder, and her smile and eyes sparkled large and lovelier, that little feeling inside tucked itself away in his heart, covered itself in soft, dark red velvet, and he almost forgot she was a different person inside. Maybe he was blinded by what she had become, started to admire what she was now, and was ready to forget who she really was. Perhaps he was wrong all those years, after all.
It was springtime one day when he remembered. When she found them in the little cove, when the horror and conviction and disgust in her eyes nearly convinced him it was all over… he remembered that somewhere in her heart was still that little child, somewhere deep inside was that tender soul, afraid and quiet and vulnerable.
"Let me show you."
Maybe he could find that part in her again.
