Chapitre 18: Cold Nights in the City
Icy eyes follow the outside as it passes in a blur, foggy with wistfulness and a vague excitement. She leans forward and in a moment or two, she finds a cobblestone path and then a wooden signboard welcoming them in through the edge of the town.
Myra's heart quakes under her ribs, threatening to jump right out of her skin and lay itself on the floor. Doing this shouldn't be so special, especially when entering an urbanised town shouldn't be new to her at all, for the spirit of a school girl from the modern age.
Still, something about the thrill of lying and sneaking out excites her, the idea that she can give little thought to consequences for a stolen second is heart-throbbingly special.
"It's so pretty," Myra breathes out, sounding like this is the first time she's stepped foot into such a place.
The carriage tracks through the narrow road, avoiding men and women dressed in clothes of all kinds, mixed with colours, ones that Myra's never seen before.
It's like watching a set of dolls move on their own, like observing the pictures out of a history textbook come to life. Ivory walls of buildings glisten under the flickering tangerine street lights, shining with the remnants of leaky water pipes.
Shophouses stand proudly next to each other, separated only by thin gaps in their walls and their windows labelled with varying names.
"Aww, being here makes me feel more at home than the confines of my manor itself," she coos, heart warming at the sight of a little toddler who passes her.
The toddler holds a lollipop in his hands, one almost larger than the size of his petite face. He pauses, feeling Myra's gaze on him and makes his mother stop along with him too. They lock gazes for a few seconds till eventually, Myra's carriage passes.
"I want to have fun today."
The marquess hides his smile behind his lips, unable to peel his gaze off the charming lady in front of him. He knows she's changed, and that there's little that he'll be able to recover, even with their childhoods together reduced to dust, but for some reason he can't find it in himself to not love her the same way he always has.
Ares blinks and for a second he feels younger and the girl who's in front of him is no older than sixteen. She's shorter and frail, pink hair stopping at her forearm.
"I remember the first time we snuck out together. It was on the night of your sixteenth birthday, reminds me of this one," he smiles.
"Oh? It's been a long time since then, hasn't it? I can barely remember my current age. Twenty-four maybe? I'm way past my peak," Myra shrugs, aureate light reflecting off the softness of her eyes.
Ares smiles wistfully and he knows he wouldn't do so if it was anyone else that wasn't her. He clutches his fingers tighter around his knee, clearing his throat louder to catch her attention. "Twenty-two, you mean," he corrects, and Myra just agrees, obviously embarrassed by the fact that she couldn't remember so little as her age.
Ares doesn't find the time to dig up a conversation topic as the carriage comes to an abrupt halt by the side of the road.
Outside, Myra's greeted by the sight of a moviesque scene, centered by a marble statue of one of Fleurette's late emperors. She remembers this fairly well and for a minute, her actions pause, as if she's experienced this moment before.
She whips her head towards Ares and suddenly the air's a mix of hotness and coldness and she catches the gentle aroma of perfume.
Deja vu, Myra decides but it feels more than just this. Ares steps out onto the road and his face is met with a cold gust of wind. He holds out a gloved hand, which Myra takes when stepping off with caution.
Upon hearing the click of the door going shut, the coach wrenches his neck to face the back, lifting up a hand in thanks. The marquess responds by pointing at his uncovered wristwatch, reminding him to return at the organised time. The verbal exchange is cut short when the horses whinny impatiently, slamming their hooves against the path in disapproval.
The coach takes off and the marquess averts his gaze back to Myra, who has already ventured a short distance into the crowd. Ares' eyes widen in shock and he lunges towards her, throwing a coat over to cover her hair. "You're going to get yourself caught," he hisses, wary about anyone who has been staring.
Strangers who might've stopped to whisper amongst themselves quickly dissipate when they realise it must've been their eyes, understanding that it's far more important to focus on the business of their lives than Myra, who has now blended in as one of them.
Myra fawns gratefully, tucking her hands into the sleeves of the black jacket, making sure the hoodie covers her bubblegum hair.
"Thank you," Myra blushes appreciatively but spares him the embarrassment, burying her hands in her pockets while quickening her steps towards a random direction down the winding path. She finds herself loitering, swaying and with nothing on her mind in particular.
All she wanted was to see the world, to familiarise herself with these sights and adopt it as something which has known for twenty-two years.
As her eyes flicker over numerous sights, she hopes her brain will churn logic out of the mushed up visions.
"Is there anywhere we like to go? I don't know where my legs plan on taking me," Myra whips her head around, searching for Ares, only to find that he's nowhere to be found.
Myra blinks and she remains in her spot, frozen. "Ares?" she calls out, not loud enough for the neighbouring crowd to question her. She tip-toes, craning her neck to search for blonde hair, a tall and bulky frame.
Nothing, no one and Myra realises that she's alone. She allows her body to follow the direction of the late-night wind as she realises nothing else could possibly get any worse.
Myra clutches onto her waist, goosebumps brushing over the surface of her skin in moments as the air gets colder when the night melts into the later hours.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
mirxkewl
mirxkewl "You can fly even higher." | This book is officially off hiatus and will be updated regularly! Thank you for waiting patiently for its return, and happy December!
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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Power Stone 
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