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Amelia looks the same.
Daphne isn't sure why she had thought she wouldn't, why she was so convinced her mental image was idealized or flawed or changed in some indefinable way. Somehow that night had seemed like a fiction with storybook characters playing the roles. She allowed herself a quick smile as she turned the images back and forth in her mind. Was she Sleeping Beauty, brought out of stillness with a kiss? Or was Amelia Rapunzel, heart locked in a tall tower after tragedy and loss?
She smiled at Amelia and stepped back from the door, welcoming Amelia into her home.
I'm no prince, she thinks, and neither is she. As Amelia's warmth brushes past her, it slides into her muscles and sinew and bones and quelling a little of the panic and sadness in her center. But maybe we both need someone to set us free.
She follows the soft curve of Amelia's shoulder as it rounds the corner into the kitchen, and loses herself in the glint of Amelia's smile when she turns and steps close. What ever happens in the happily ever after? she wonders idly as Amelias arms come to rest on her shoulders. How do they find themselves outside the story?
As Amelia pulls her close and she melts against the other woman, she smiles. That's a question for another time.