Syl's lips quivered as they slowly parted.
Amon's hand tilted her chin upward, and the warmth of his skin felt burning hot compared to her own.
His eyes were calm and unhurried. They were natural, comfortable, and comforting.
The candlelight bent as if sensing that something inside the room had changed. Shadows pulsed over the lines of his shoulders, and over the slope of her neck. Neither of them moved, yet the space separating them was slowly shortening, slowly disappearing.
Syl found herself at a loss. She had no idea what to say, or what to do.
Presently, there was nothing she wanted to say or do. There wasn't anything she wanted to think about. There was nothing to think about.
Staring into his eyes so closely, feeling his presence so close to her, feeling his skin against her own, Syl found herself forgetting about every little thing that usually continually spun inside her mind.
The anger, the shame, the humiliation.
The tribe, the betrayal, the weakness.
