If I could be anyone at this moment alone, I wanted to be Medea. So that I could envelope myself in illusion, wrap myself in light and shadow, and disappear. Just so I could escape his emerald gaze that bore of emotions too heavy and confusing to speak out loud. And that’s just the thing. I couldn’t wrap myself around the idea on why he would have this weight in his eyes unless we had a history. If we had, wouldn’t I have remembered him easily or wouldn’t somebody would have said something about this already? Illia was not tight-lipped on sharing information, so if he knew something, wouldn’t he have told me too?
“I knew there was something about you,” he finally spoke, voice husky and filled with uncertainties. But why? “But I didn’t know it’s this.”
Knowing I cannot escape having this
