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Summary
This was a dangerous habit. Maelle was a dangerous habit. Affection toward anyone was strictly off-limits, yet one doe-eyed, primly-postured girl weaseled her way into his heart.
What helped least of all was Maelle’s resemblance. Like a vivid hallucination, he dreamt of growing up with Alicia. Guiding her youth-soft hands through clumsy brushstrokes and detangling her hair as she sniveled and blubbered about Clea for the umpteenth time.
Every time, he woke with more fondness and protection in his touch for Maelle, and Maelle seemed adamant to seek him out most nights in camp.
