hymns to persephone
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There was something tangible between them, almost.  It was strange, otherworldly.  This didn’t feel like meeting someone new at all.  Pursing her lips, she considered him for a moment, took in the sight and presentation of Stefan Salvatore.  He was unimaginably attractive, for one; for two, there was something different about him.

Her hand slipped out of his but not without remorse.  Elena’s palm was warm from where he’d touched it, and the absence of touch left her flesh tingling in an odd sort of way.  She tried to smile, if only for presentation, but as soon as they mentioned getting on the ice, she was the first one to bolt for the rink.

The ice was her safe haven.  She knew it better than she thought she knew herself sometimes.  So she didn’t wait for the okay from anyone.  Instead, she was out there, waiting for him, her posture going from relaxed to poised within seconds.  

There was, of course, a nervous, buzzing energy about her, especially when Stefan arrived to put his hand at her waist.  They’d dance to something simple, probably, basic.  Maureen called out the name of a routine that both of them knew, and Elena rather anxiously forced herself to meet his eyes. 

They were green.  So green.  She tried not to let them distract her as they moved, her hands shaking mildly whenever they came into contact.

hymns to persephone