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|More from Theavatardemotivator||Romance||G||Very Positive|
Chapter Seventy-One: Obsession
There is no other way to describe it.
With the scent of her hair.
Usually, a sort of fresh fragrance, like the forest after the rain, but occasionally supplemented with the salty-sweet of an ocean breeze or the sharp scent of the ice.
Sometimes, she smells of moonflowers, of lilac lilies, of blue roses.
With the color of her eyes.
A blue unlike any he has ever seen. So lovely, dark, and deep. Telling of seas and skies, of water and wind, of waves and eddies, of storms crashing with lightning and of rainbows across the beautiful expanse.
Sometimes, he knows, she is like a raging typhoon, but sometimes she is like the calming mist.
With the sound of her voice.
Like the pitter-patter of raindrops falling so softly onto the sand, like the back and forth of waves washing onto the endless golden shores, like the sound of tears dripping from a cheek onto a shoulder.
A shoulder to cry on.
A shoulder to lean on.
With the feel of her skin.
Sometimes, when she is asleep, he likes to run his thumb in a gentle circle on the inside of her palm, a careful loop, a wheel of life. He'll sit cross-legged next to her, take her hand into his, open it as one would a gift, and trace a circle. Or a heart. The symbol of the Water Tribe. The symbol of the Air Nomads. A combination. A heart made of a bird. A fish within the heart.
A fish within the love of the bird.
He tilts his head and smiles, and even though he has only drawn it with his finger, he can imagine it, illuminated, in his mind's eyes.
He will craft her betrothal necklace with the design.
It will be the greatest thing he shall ever create.
The most perfect.
With the taste of her lips.
To be fair, he's only kissed her . . . once. In the Cave of Two Lovers.
When all hope was gone.
When all hope was dark.
When all hope was lost.
And they kissed.
Barely a kiss. Barely.
But a kiss.
He can remember her lips brushing his, and the taste—like fireworks—spicy and sweet—wet like the sea—endless as the sky—
At the Invasion.
With the wind playing her hair loopies.
He closes his eyes, and he can still remember:
"What if . . . what if I don't come back?" he'd said.
He will never forget.
The memory is suddenly overshadowed by that of his sudden kiss.
No, not fierce.
The exact opposite.
Telling her . . . how much he loved her.
How much he loves her.
He is obsessed.
With her hair, with her eyes, with her voice, with her skin, with her lips—
That's only the superficial.
He is obsessed with her.
With her thoughts.
With her emotions.
With her personality.
I originally had this during the Katara-Aang alone time in 315, but then I realized that LiaB basically fixed this, so I shifted this. Chronologically, it takes place just before Creation.
The phrase "lovely, dark, and deep" is a reference to one of my favorite poets of all.
Some say the world will end in fire - some say in ice. ;3
For the collective works of the author, go here.