Mid-Maze | Post-Ritual | Prosper & Ava (& Open)
"'Shards of pointy glass'?" she repeated, glancing at her sparkle-dusted palms. "Well, if I die from glitter-induced trauma, tell the world my story." She brushed her hands on her pants and looked up, noticing for the first time the flecks peppering his pale face like miniature constellations. A surprised laugh escaped her lips. "Unless you perish with me. Looks like glitter is contagious."
With his hood down, she could get a better impression of who he was. His costume had concealed a mop of hair so messy Ava was tempted to run her fingers through it. He was taller than she had anticipated, but it suited his lanky frame and long limbs. When his fingertips suddenly grazed the line of her jaw, the sensation feather-light and soft, her eyes widened, studying his face as he studied hers, curiosity and questions reflected in her expression. "You weren't kiddin' about saying a name five times," she said, her fingers tracing the space where his had previously been. "It almost sounds like magic."
Smiling, she gently reached out and ruffled his fluffy hair. "There's no forgettin' you. I'm lending you a comb once we get out of here." She paused, her gaze travelling to the thick hedges surrounding them, their presence suddenly oppressive. "If we can get out of here, that is."