tip toe through the tulips with (bold) MEEEEE

Through an open glass ceiling, sunlight beams brightly on the colorful, vibrant flowers that lined the greenhouse. It was a touch of color that contrasted the dark of the city— one that, despite its relative smallness, was a monument to Persephone's exuberance. 

She found a sense of solace, curiously, in the serenity of being amongst the greenery. It was an untouched purity, unscathed by the cruel world that lay beyond the tower’s walls; an innocence she scarcely saw, in her endeavors, yet one she didn’t resent. Smiling serenely, she walks through the rows of flowers, observing in awe the array of colors. Brushing a gentle hand through the various bushes, she carelessly plucks a rose from one of them, holding its stem carefully between her fingers. The thorns, invisible under the allure of the rose’s luxurious, red petals, hadn’t seemed to graze her fingers when pulling it.

The sound of shuffling footsteps, subdued, pulls her away attention away from the rose as she looks up. She didn’t felt the need to ask who it was, hadn’t needed that to feel a familiar warmth fill her heart. There was only one other person who could be here, after all.

Brightly, she turns to look forward, and through the rows and bushes of flowers, the figure of Fenris stood. He, too, stuck out drastically amongst the bright scenery, but there was something much different about how he contrasted their surroundings. Where much seemed bright, he was the sullen juxtaposition, yet there was something about that contrast Persephone found herself drawn to. 

There were plenty of things that drew her to Fenris. As he’d stood out amongst the flowers, he stood out in everything he did— and that'd been evident in everyone he interacted with. Persephone knew well enough that, from birth, his world had its eyes on him— and even now, it was a statement that held some pertinence to it. Perhaps it was something Fenris hadn’t desired, but even she, too, couldn’t help being drawn to that tempting power.

Fenris seemed not to notice her, either, until she takes a few steps forward, still holding the rose with delicate care between her fingers. She could see past his position of power, if not now, to fall in love again with the way his expression lit up upon seeing her. Fenris was a man of quiet disposition, but through that stern nature, she loved to watch him grow soft around her. 

She draws close to him, a gesture which he seems immediately grateful for, since he seems to soften up even more. “I was wondering where you went.” She mutters, quietly, a smile still soft on her lips. Of course, there were only so many places he could be in their tower, but there’d been something that compelled her to say that. It was not a statement of ingenuity— her days were made better, after all, in the presence of Fenris. To make him happy was one of her goals, after all. 

He, too, speaks softly (though it was to be expected, somewhat, given his subdued nature) but even his tone seems brighter around her. “I could’ve told you I was going to be here.” 

“Oh, that’s fine. No need to worry about it.” She answers, with haste, a distinct gentleness in her voice. It was a bright tone that Fenris seemed to lack, but she seemed not at all to mind making up in it for the both of them. 

Fenris was a man who always seemed troubled. Persephone knew well-enough he had plenty to contemplate— his troubles were ones that, despite having not experienced, she could always empathize with. There was a balance to be had, anyway, with her emotions and Fenris’. 

“What’s on your mind?” She asked. She’d always asked that same question, after all, whenever Fenris seemed deep in his contemplation, but it’d never seemed to be perceived as disingenuous. He seems to hesitate when she asks, the little confidence he’d had around the people he was close to wavering. 

After a moment’s silence, he resigns himself to an answer. “Nothing particularly, I suppose.” Whatever he’d been contemplating, it wasn’t the nature of his job— through years of dealing with suffering, he’d grown numb to it, that she knew. He had a lot to think about, after all— feelings to quell over that, over eons of internalizing them, had become far too deep-rooted to vocalize, even to woman he loved the most. Persephone knew that fact well, knew it even when asking the simple question of how he was doing.

“Oh, are you sure?” She was not one for that obnoxiously romantic love, but she reaches down to lace her fingers with Fenris’, holding the rose in her other hand. He takes to the gesture kindly, squeezing her hand softly. Though doesn’t smile, that sullen frown sweetens, and Persephone can’t help but soften up, too.

Persephone, in the same regard, was unequivocal in her ambitions. That struggle with power was one Fenris had to bear (and as much as she’d tried to help, it was his burden alone), and yet, in that same token, the allure of the sheer power he held kept drawing Persephone in. It crossed her mind— and Fenris knew, too— that she was one of the closest people to one of the most powerful beings. It was tempting, to use; and for her ambition, it was perfect. 

It wasn’t all she saw Fenris for, and perhaps that's where it differed.

“Thank you.” Out of nowhere, he murmurs, and it’s enough to draw Persephone out of her train of thought. She looks up at him, inquisitively, and it seems, then, he has plans on continuing. 

“For being here. You know I would do anything for you,” his voice, mellow, is the only thing Persephone can focus in on, “and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do. There is no death I wouldn’t die for you.”

She was quite used to the intensity of his proclamations of love, after all— and she hadn’t minded them in the slightest. She laughs, softly, bringing herself closer to Fenris and brushing her thumb against the rose’s sharp thorns. Quietly, she moves her hand up to hold its petals in her palm. 

Fenris looks down and, pausing for a moment, reaches to cup a cold hand around hers.