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Summary
Despite her terrified, racing thoughts, somehow, she was focused on the details of his face. His hair was damp with sweat. The scar she had given him was almost healed, but would ever be a valley, a twisted reminder to torment her. She could see each of his long lashes curling gently. His lips were so red, though cracked from lack of care. She wanted to kiss him, like in those stories she heard as a child. He was the sleeping prince and she the knight come to save him. As she bent close, he stirred.
“Rey?” His voice was barely a whisper, barely conscious.
“Ben, don’t move. I have you.” she said in an earnest whisper. She held his precious face and leaned close to make out his faint words.