"Don't move." she mumbled, biting her bottom lip in concentration as her charcoal flew over the paper. Fast was the only way to do it, really, since most people seemed to find posing hard even with her clear instructions. She supposed it was the awkwardness of it all, having someone study you that intently. This moment was one that she needed to capture, though, even if she would never be able to properly translate it onto a piece of parchment. She studied his face for a moment; the straight bridge of his nose, the dark curls that softly bobbed on the light summer breeze...

She couldn't wait to marry him. This was exactly how it was supposed to be, she could feel it in her bones. He was the perfect man to one day rule Ashmoor alongside her. He was smart, well-mannered, handsome and funny too. She really liked that about him. And, maybe the most important thing, her parents approved of him. Else they never would have arranged it.

The wind picked up for a moment and one of the shorter strands that framed her face escaped from its pin. That wasn't too bad, but then she lost her grip on the parchment and it flew away from the drawing board she had been holding it against. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed in surprise, immediately getting up to try and catch it before it flew all the way to the Agrarian Ring.

She would not let it fly away. It had just started to be somewhat decent in her eyes and that was a lot coming from her. Whether by nature or nurture, she was her own worst critic; a perfectionist through and through. More importantly, though, this was a memory. They all were, so she saved all of her sketches even if the quality made her never want to look at it again.

It was starting to get away from her. The wind seemed to have caught it in just the right way to pick up both speed and height, so it was now or never. She had to make a jump for it. She bended her knees and stretched her arm, eyes focused on her target. Just as she jumped up a strong gust of wind came on and so she had to stretch even more to catch it before it flew over the garden wall. Just a little... Yes! She firmly clamped the parchment in her hand. The extra stretch mid-air had messed up her coordination a little though, and so she landed a bit more to the left, right where Faolan was apparently standing. She hadn't even noticed that he had followed her.

She bumped into him, hard enough to send them both to the ground. Her landing was softened by the fact that he was now underneath her, which was good for her but not so much for him. "Oh, I'm sorry! Are you okay?" she asked him, not quite getting up yet. Call it shock or something else.

It hadn’t been her intention to tackle him to the ground, of course, or to get her dress dirty in the process, but now that she was here she quite enjoyed the view. And, not unimportantly, she did manage to catch her sketch. She studied his face for a bit, her point of view changed entirely from the side profile she had been drawing. A cheeky smile appeared on her face as he confirmed that he was alright, the shock wearing off. ”I am,” she nodded, ”although I do remember telling you very specifically not to move.” She raised a challenging eyebrow at that, the cheeky look ever so present on her face. She liked teasing him a little bit, liked how it pulled him out of his shell. He could be so pensive sometimes.

Her gaze moved from his eyes to his mouth, his lips that were so often pursed but now looked quite relaxed. Ever so slowly she lowered her face, until their lips were only a whisper apart. She stayed there for a moment and then a moment longer, before ultimately deciding on a short, sweet kiss on his nose instead, a grin breaking out on her face.

She wasn't sure what she had been trying to achieve with her little tease. Maybe nothing. Maybe it had just been a heat-of-the-moment thing. But deep down she knew that wasn't true. She wanted him to want her, wanted him to grab her collar and pull her down, finishing the kiss that she had hinted at. But that wasn't him, she knew that. She wondered if that would change one day; if, sometime in the future, he would feel comfortable enough with her to fully let down his guard. Surely he would, right? It would take time, she didn't doubt that, but marriage should bring them closer together. Like two peas in a pod. A partnership.

For now, a slight upwards curl of his lips was all she was gonna get. She wondered what he was thinking, but the look in his eyes gave nothing away. So she mimicked his smile, studying his gaze for just a second longer. To no avail. "Well, since you're asking so nicely." she answered, her deep voice a cheerful ring to it as she did like being called great artist, even if it was only in a teasing manner. Now was the time for her to get off of her fiancé and so she rolled over until she was lying next to him. By now her dress was dirty, anyway. She held the crinkled piece of parchment above her head, trying to straighten it slightly before passing it over to him. Immediate regret took over, as she didn't want him to feel offended in any way. After all, it was just a sketch and not a perfectly realistic portrait like the ones they all had hanging in their homes. She turned her head to look at him, studying his face for any kind of reaction, even though she knew that he probably wouldn't show it.

As was expected, his face stayed completely blank as he studied her sketch. If he were anyone else that would have been enough for her to snatch it back and not show it to anyone ever again. She rarely did share her art to begin with, too preoccupied with the idea of perfection to risk any critique. But with him she knew that that awfully long silence did not necessarily mean that he did not like it.

She hadn't noticed the breath she had been holding in, until his soft-spoken words caused her to let it go. Apparently she didn't quite trust him not to hurt her feelings just yet, although by now she should probably come to the conclusion that any emotion he did show was sincere. Or so she assumed. They were only just getting to know each other, really. She sometimes wondered whether he even liked her. Not that she had any particular reason to believe he didn't, but what if? Would he tell anyone? Would she know? Some people only married for the sake of marriage and would then go their merry own way. But in those cases, both people would be aware of the fact that their marriage didn't mean anything, right? But these were all silly worries, of course. Wedding jitters, if you will. They were good together, she knew they were; he just liked to keep his emotions to himself a bit more and that was completely fine.

She mimicked his smile at his sweet words, although they did not take away the distance she felt. He was still one of very few people to rarely call her by her nickname; it was always Alison. It wasn't worth it to spend even more time worrying, though. It was a beautifully sunny afternoon, probably one of the last ones of the season, and she was lucky enough to spend it with the soon-to-be love of her life. "Thank you. Although I find that quite hard to believe." she answered, a grin appearing on her face as well. He was an undeniably beautiful person, his face resembling that of a carved marble statue more than anything else. "I am having a hard time getting right that unruly hair of yours." she said, cringing internally at how wonky it looked from her current point of view. Even though it made her job that much harder, she did love how his hair seemed to lead a life of his own. A stark contrast to his always so controlled composure.

She loved him. She loved him like she loved long summer evenings and poppies bobbing in the wind. Like early rides when the grass was still wet from dew and like the smell of drying paint. She loved how he was just that little bit taller than her, how the white part of his eyes went all the way underneath his iris. She loved his thoughtful stature, how he never talked over her and never seemed to want any more from her than she could give. How he complemented her perfectly, keeping her grounded despite all her hopes and dreams and worries and fears. She loved how he didn't seem to be threatened by her future rulership, how he didn't try to take advantage of it. And, most of all, she loved how he would look like ruling beside her. Was that not what love was? Accepting someone as they were, seeing exactly how perfect they would be together? Love was a powerful thing, she thought. And kneading it, bending it in the way one wanted was an even more powerful thing. That's why she loved him. She loved him because she made it so.

Her eyes widened at his suggestion. He wouldn't dare, would he? Though there was no sarcasm or humour to be found in his eyes; there rarely ever was. Strange, then, to make such a suggestion, so she better put a halt to it once and for all. "I want no such thing." she said, sternly. She reached out to touch it, letting one of the curls glide between her fingers. Why was it that his hair was always so much smoother than hers? "I will just have to practice a bit more to get it right next time." She would make a thousand sketches of just his hair if it prevented him from doing something so brash.

"Tell me," she said, looking up at him through her lashes, "what are you thinking?" The same question that had plagued her every minute she had spent with him from the moment they met. There was something noble about his private nature, and a good skill to have as well. But she deserved more than that, needed more than that in order to fuel that love that she had so carefully crafted for him.

A soft smile played on her lips at his demand. "I will. I promise." she said. It was an easy promise to keep, seeing as both himself and his hair looked perfect from every angle. And besides, she did not have to show him every sketch she did. She was allowed privacy, too; her letting him in so often was a deliberate choice, not a requisite.

Of course it was a choice for him as well, and he happened to choose differently. She shouldn't push it, she thought. But she was oh so curious of the world inside his head that she couldn't help but ask.

What had she expected? An off-hand comment about the weather maybe, something to change the subject in a way that would satisfy her hunger for his mind just enough for her to shut up about it. She would have accepted it, for now. She did not expect to receive the truth anyway. But the reaction he gave was not something she had considered. In just a moment, she watched as any connection she had with her fiancé was once again blocked. I'm not sure anymore. What did that mean? Her mind was racing, trying to figure out if it was something she said, something she did. But instead of pushing for an answer she stayed quiet. Silently she looked at him, her brows furrowed in concern. Waiting for him to take control of his thoughts once more and telling her anything he wanted her to know. His choice.

It was hard for her to wait. She wanted so badly to give him a gentle push, a word of encouragement to get him to trust her. But doing so would only make things worse, she feared. So she had no option other than waiting, holding her breath for what seemed like hours.

This was it, she thought. This was the moment he would tell her that he didn't want any of this, didn't want her. That he was just spending time with her because their parents were forcing them to live the rest of their lives together. A panicky feeling started clouding her brain, but she managed to keep her breathing steady. She supposed, if anything, it was better to say it now than to wait until after the wedding. At least this way they could still do something about it, even if she wasn't sure what. Convincing her mother not to have them officiated would not be an easy feat, but it would be hard to force someone, right?

I'm afraid. There it was. She was afraid, too, afraid of exactly this moment. And any moments of hardship that a marriage with a practical stranger would bring with it. She opened her mouth to reply, having waited longer than she thought she could, but was shut up when he went on. Afraid of connecting with people? Oh. His words hit her like a truck, sounding so sad and broken that she couldn't help a pitiful frown from appearing on her face. It all made sense, suddenly. She had been projecting his insecurities on herself, thinking that maybe he didn't like her. But not everything was about her.

Slowly, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. Look at me." she said softly. "If I can let you in on a secret... Most of the connections you see other people make aren't real." If anyone could know, it was her. All those people who pretended to be her friend always ended up just wanting something from her. Maybe that was what had initially started to worry her; he didn't go out of his way to be overly nice to her and that was not something that she was used to. God, how stupid was she to just assume. "I think you have been very blessed with a gift that allows you only to connect with the people that really matter." How nice must it be not to spend any energy on niceties, on trying to be liked. Still, she could imagine how alienating it must feel.

She wasn't sure if her words would come across in the way she wanted them to. It wasn't her intention to be dismissive of his feelings, to treat his words lightly when she would never know what it was like to struggle with what he did. But she couldn't say nothing and she did mean the words she said. In the short time that she had gotten to know him better, there was one thing that was an undeniable truth: Faolan was violently and unapologetically himself. And she loved that about him. But theirs was a cruel world with certain expectations and that made it difficult. She often wondered if she would have fared as well as she did had her mother not been so uptight in the way she wanted her daughter to be. Which part of her was truly her? With Faolan, that was much less of a question; she knew that every carefully crafted word came from his own soul.

She shouldn't be surprised when he didn't say anything, then, even if it was still something she had to get used to. What did surprise her was his response to her touch. Rather than moving away, which she had half expected, he placed his hand on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. His long, elegant fingers falling easily over hers, their hands fitting together comfortably as though they were made for each other. She could feel her body fill with warmth. Slowly, she reached forward, carefully placing her chin on top of their hands. "Don't be afraid. You'll be just fine." she said softly.