[ elena used to operate under the impression her heart is supposed to flutter or a cliche handful of butterflies in her stomach is supposed to make her giddy and ecstatic. damon's claim to seriousness, the gentle, purposeful brush of his fingers, and his most sincere proposal?
her heart is thudding, and what's happening in her gut is more comparable to a swarm of bees. she's not sure if this is dread and terror or something much more dreadful and terrifying.
he better be serious. she's not answering for a moment, maybe because he deserves to wait and maybe because she'd rather not answer him looking like a deer in headlights. ]
Maybe I would. [ there. composed. ] Like that. [ she holds his gaze, and the words she just uttered echo back at her, hang in the air. her stomach pulls into a tight knot. she supposes that's giddiness. or maybe she's gone absolutely insane. ]