"I think you're beautiful."
The words echoed in her head, her brain analyzing every tone, every look, every possible intention that came with those words. Flooded with anxiousness until the next time she would see her filled her, eager to hear her speak again.
Anya didn't lie. Her words meant the world to her. She saw her for what she truly was. A beauty, speaking her mind, and being ridiculed and pulled down because of it. She wanted to let her out, bring her up, not knock her down. She treasured her thoughts, cherished her presence, mentally and physically.
She understood and accepted both her demon side and human side. Her inability to accept some things in this world.
She smelled of cinnamon and ashes from their fire, her skin tasted of vanilla cakes and fresh strawberries. She craved her scent, her flavour.
Sometimes she brought her flowers, other times she brought warm champagne, just the way they both liked it. On the rare occasion she came with nothing, she didn't comment on the fact, she accepted it and told her that she was beautiful, like she always did.
Stroking her hair late at night in the bed they ended up sharing on the nights they spent together, she felt at peace, felt complete. Anya completed her. They both knew it, it just went unspoken between them.
She was perfection in it's purest form. Her skin was beauty, ashes and warm champagne.
The words echoed in her head, her brain analyzing every tone, every look, every possible intention that came with those words. Flooded with anxiousness until the next time she would see her filled her, eager to hear her speak again.
Anya didn't lie. Her words meant the world to her. She saw her for what she truly was. A beauty, speaking her mind, and being ridiculed and pulled down because of it. She wanted to let her out, bring her up, not knock her down. She treasured her thoughts, cherished her presence, mentally and physically.
She understood and accepted both her demon side and human side. Her inability to accept some things in this world.
She smelled of cinnamon and ashes from their fire, her skin tasted of vanilla cakes and fresh strawberries. She craved her scent, her flavour.
Sometimes she brought her flowers, other times she brought warm champagne, just the way they both liked it. On the rare occasion she came with nothing, she didn't comment on the fact, she accepted it and told her that she was beautiful, like she always did.
Stroking her hair late at night in the bed they ended up sharing on the nights they spent together, she felt at peace, felt complete. Anya completed her. They both knew it, it just went unspoken between them.
She was perfection in it's purest form. Her skin was beauty, ashes and warm champagne.