Re: Wandering: Hannah/Fiach
She wouldn't mind dancing forever, and she often danced around the house and sang nonsense songs with made up words, and it was a lovely thing to become lost in. Daydreaming, and like she was still that young girl who dreamed of being a princess and twirling in a tiara. But life wasn't like that, and she knew that too well. But moments, moments, she would claim the moments where and whenever she could.
He beamed, and she didn't know what lived behind that smile. But she knew people, and she'd known people, and she had an understanding of life that came from not being alive, while still living, and she tipped her head as he beamed and agreed they were a sight, as he thanked her for the dance. She was curious, and she knew he had a story. She knew that beneath that beaming smile and the gracious dance, he had storms. She could tell, and his comments about his family only further her sureness. Hannah wasn't sure about herself, but she was sure about other people, and she was sure quickly.
But she didn't swoon, and her cheeks were flush as she laughed and caught her breath. "Thank you," she replied, giving him a curtsy that even Jane Austen would approve of.
And she was about to give her name, or a name, or something, but he spoke about his brothers, his father, and anger washed in like the tide, painting his expression thunderous swiftly. "Oh," she said, and she blinked cornflower understanding with a touch of trauma buried there. "I'm sorry you're dead, and I'm sorry they are, and I'm sorry things are bad," she told him. "I don't know where I belong, but it was easier when they thought I was dead," she admitted, because it was, and she really, really wasn't sure that being alive had been a good thing for any of them. "Maybe stay dead?" It was a suggestion clouded by her own hurt feelings at the moment.