(sweet) eunie blue eyes

If Eunie knew what a red-eye flight was, she'd probably find it yet another reason to be gamely irritated with Ashera's undying corespring of energy. Always red-eyed, always cunning and cagey, always putting on a pretense of being more than she was - except that she was always, always, always all that and more.

Ashera was everything. More than. She'd made herself Eunie's end-all and be-all, deep underneath the feathers and fire, in a way that Eunie was and would be forever hard-pressed to realize, to admit.

Swearing to die together somehow meant so much more than busting to make it to the consuls' ceremony homecoming, when you accepted that these ten terms were all you had to work with.

If Eunie had never become Ouroboros, she might never have met Ashera, like this. She'd certainly never have met Ashera where she was.

It wouldn't have been the same. Which was, of course, exactly why the two of them had to go out together, or not at all.

Ashera's eyes, red pricks, softened and sharped, simultaneously, when she set her sights on Eunie. Not a speck of gray nor green (only sometimes, if you were dreaming). Compared to Ashera, Eunie was positively big-eyed, and Ashera adored her that way.

A heavy sleeper, but hard-pressed to get there, she'd often lie awake gazing at every softest firelit curve of Eunie's face, wishing her eyes would open but also praying that Eunie could enjoy this hard-won respite.

She woke first, too - didn't have to, but did. Did have to, that is. Ashera was always first to wake, even if she had to pretend she wasn't.

And she'd gaze again, for a little while, until Eunie stirred, and in a soft voice, devoid of itchy spark, whisper, "Good morning, my Eunie Blue Eyes."

Never rolled as well if she had to write it out, but then Ashera wasn't one for writing letters. It just flowed.

At first Eunie had fought the idea of someone laying palm on her rosy, rest-squished cheek, treating her all tender-like. Especially someone like Ashera, who beguiled and befuddled her and refused to take understanding.

To know that Ashera had a soft side was to admit that the Lone Exile had a heart just as heavy as the rest of 'em; that the façade was as real as it was for show, and vice versa. That infamous commanders were people, too. That the whole war had entailed never seeing the others as real people. Obviously.

It became clear soon enough that this was all part of the pact: share your vulnerability with me. Give me someone to lie with, to pray with.

Give me someone to cherish, to put almost before myself. Be my blue-eyed baby, my safekeeping spot.

Keep me, not safe but as a keepsake. Cover me, as I never have had so strong an ally.

Our secret language, spoken through or without words at all. Our diophanous dance, opaque to all others.

To the end, my Eunie Blue Eyes. My darling girl.