02-25-2023, 08:11 PM
Visha listened rapt, her gaze alternating between the baubles on his wrist and his expression. She had never been to Paris, and she didn’t know what repoussé even meant, though she did recognise the name of the designer. Mostly she was aware of the way his hand felt in hers. Seven sat very close, the realisation of which made her very aware of her breathing and the steady rush of heartbeat in her chest. By the intimacy of their posture, she wondered if onlookers might presume they were on a date, and it zipped her through with thrill to imagine. He was very handsome, and very fashionable. Her position was enviable.
When he paused and simply smiled, she took it upon herself to explore the final bracelet. A finger traced where the owl lay flush against the underside of his wrist, hidden from casual view. The gloves were too thick to feel the shudder of his pulse, but she knew it must feel sensitive. “Hmm,” she said. A smile tugged like the promise of a secret to be discovered. She realised she enjoyed the attention of his scrutiny, and for a moment her touch followed the flow of the vein up. Visha was naive about much, but she consumed a lot of whimsical media. It was the vehicle through which she lived most vicariously, at least until she had begun to sneak out at night. This was much more exciting than one of her shows though.
The placement of the owl was sentimental. She leaned a little closer, as much as she dared without risking an accidental touch. “This one has a story,” she whispered to him confidently.
If it didn’t, it was going to. She decided it was the one she wanted.
The lights dimmed. Seven did not move away, so Visha didn’t either. But her attention shifted, and her wide eyes absorbed it all with a dedication to living every moment of it thoroughly. A warning seemed an odd way to start. She had no idea what Atharim were, and in fact she presumed it was simply part of the show until Seven’s question made her wonder. Given his apparent fondness for the theatric, she still wasn’t sure.
“What are Atharim? The villains of the piece?”
When the curtains actually opened, her captivation was complete. Visha’s lips slightly parted with the wonderment.
When he paused and simply smiled, she took it upon herself to explore the final bracelet. A finger traced where the owl lay flush against the underside of his wrist, hidden from casual view. The gloves were too thick to feel the shudder of his pulse, but she knew it must feel sensitive. “Hmm,” she said. A smile tugged like the promise of a secret to be discovered. She realised she enjoyed the attention of his scrutiny, and for a moment her touch followed the flow of the vein up. Visha was naive about much, but she consumed a lot of whimsical media. It was the vehicle through which she lived most vicariously, at least until she had begun to sneak out at night. This was much more exciting than one of her shows though.
The placement of the owl was sentimental. She leaned a little closer, as much as she dared without risking an accidental touch. “This one has a story,” she whispered to him confidently.
If it didn’t, it was going to. She decided it was the one she wanted.
The lights dimmed. Seven did not move away, so Visha didn’t either. But her attention shifted, and her wide eyes absorbed it all with a dedication to living every moment of it thoroughly. A warning seemed an odd way to start. She had no idea what Atharim were, and in fact she presumed it was simply part of the show until Seven’s question made her wonder. Given his apparent fondness for the theatric, she still wasn’t sure.
“What are Atharim? The villains of the piece?”
When the curtains actually opened, her captivation was complete. Visha’s lips slightly parted with the wonderment.
![[Image: visha-echidna.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/04/visha-echidna.jpg)