"Merci." With studied grace, struck once again by the charming oddity of the dandelion, he threads the flower into place just above her ear. Smooths her hair. Then, keeping his hand touched gently against her hair, he places a soft kiss on her cheek and lingers for a moment before pulling back. Feeling her closeness, her vitality, and some resonance of that attraction she seems to have stumbled into. Understanding that she is gentle and alive, a sort of calm amid otherwise confounding currents.
"That I might be so near divinity..." Drawing away, hand still held to her head, he searches her face, the slightest movements of her body. She is, it must be admitted, enthralling to the eye, an image worthy of passing worship, perhaps of the limited immortality offered by canvas and color.
Though there are words upon words that might be spoken, Grantaire maintains the silence, holding her eyes if she will permit and offering a view of his own. Grantaire finds some pleasure in being beside her, certainly, and there must be some sign of this, some indication that for the moment, she holds his attention. Perhaps some promise, true or imagined; his adoration is, after all, in earnest, if only in passing. And he is doing his best to make her feel welcome, comfortable, wished for.
Still, if she peers beneath the surface levels of smiling and the half-facade of courtship, she may see something less than reassuring. Something of turbulence and an emptiness that cannot be touched by the naive smile of a lovely young woman. Whether she sees this or not... So much is for her to determine, and Grantaire pushes the thought from his mind, focusing instead on the sight and sense of the girl before him. On allowing her to know that he sees her radiance as beauty.
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Date: 2013-05-29 09:56 pm (UTC)"That I might be so near divinity..." Drawing away, hand still held to her head, he searches her face, the slightest movements of her body. She is, it must be admitted, enthralling to the eye, an image worthy of passing worship, perhaps of the limited immortality offered by canvas and color.
Though there are words upon words that might be spoken, Grantaire maintains the silence, holding her eyes if she will permit and offering a view of his own. Grantaire finds some pleasure in being beside her, certainly, and there must be some sign of this, some indication that for the moment, she holds his attention. Perhaps some promise, true or imagined; his adoration is, after all, in earnest, if only in passing. And he is doing his best to make her feel welcome, comfortable, wished for.
Still, if she peers beneath the surface levels of smiling and the half-facade of courtship, she may see something less than reassuring. Something of turbulence and an emptiness that cannot be touched by the naive smile of a lovely young woman. Whether she sees this or not... So much is for her to determine, and Grantaire pushes the thought from his mind, focusing instead on the sight and sense of the girl before him. On allowing her to know that he sees her radiance as beauty.