#varen

Is — is any of this real?" she asked. "Are you real?" He lifted a hand to her cheek, his fingers brushing her jaw. "Even if this is a dream," he whispered, "I'm not." Isobel's eyes widened, recognizing those words as her own, the same ones she had once uttered to him. She reached for him, her arms twining around his neck, drawing him closer so his scent poured over her, that combination of incense, citrus, and dried leaves overriding the funeral funeral smell of the crowding flowers. "Don't leave," she breathed. "I'm here," he whispered. "Right here. Waiting. ↗

— Kelly Creagh

#varen-nethers #dreams

So." [Isobel] cleared her throat. "What are we doing?" "We," [Varen] said at last, "are doing a project on Poe." "Didn't he marry his cousin or something?" "The man is a literary god and that's all you have to say? ↗

— Kelly Creagh

#isobel #nevermore #varen #humor

Isobel’s face burned. Her skin tingled where he’d touched her, with an almost imperceptible electricity that she couldn’t be sure if she was imagining. Like the tips of her fingers had somehow fallen asleep. ↗

— Kelly Creagh

#nevermore #varen-nethers #imagination

He clutched the watch hard in his fist, determined to destroy it, to prove that it couldn't be real. That she hadn't come here because of him, for him. That he hadn't done what he knew he had. ↗

— Kelly Creagh

#isobel #lost-love #varen-nethers #love

I keep telling myself That you’re just a girl. Another leaf blown across my path Destined to pass on And shrivel into yourself Like all the others. Yet despite my venom You refuse to wither Or fade. You remain golden throughout, And in your gaze I am left to wonder if it is me alone Who feels the fall. ↗

— Kelly Creagh

#love #poetry #varen #love

Isobel moved farther into the kitchen, not knowing whether to be relieved that her mother hadn't had an atomic meltdown, or mortified that she'd taken it upon herself to play head chef with the nearest thing Trenton High had to a Dark Lord. ↗

— Kelly Creagh

#isobel #nevermore #varen #funny

She glanced down at the contents of her plate. Just tell him what it is. Simple. Look at it and say what it is. "Sloppy Joe," she managed. "Hmm," he said, sounding doubtful. "May he rest in peace. ↗

— Kelly Creagh

#humor #isobel #lunch #sloppy-joe #varen

I told you you’d come", said a nearby voice, one Isobel knew well. "You said you would." (…) "You shouldn’t have, though", he said, and looked up, his face twisted with anger. "Even if we knew you would, you shouldn’t have." He got up and began moving toward her. "Why", he growled, "when we will only show you we are not worth it? Why, when we have no other choice but to prove to you we’re not worth it? ↗

— Kelly Creagh

#isobel #pinfeathers #varen #anger

For the briefest moment, they came face to face. Their eyes locked. Then he broke the stare, swiveled, sank into a sitting position, chains clanking, with his knees up. She watched him speechlessly as he set a cooler bag between his boots, like he was settling down to a picnic or something. An image of the contents as hospital blood bags, complete with juice straws, flashed through her mind. Unfolding her legs, she made herself as comfortable as she could on the cold outer edge of the sill. An intangible and unnameable charge electrified the space between them, and at first, neither of them said anything. [...] Finally she heard him unzip the bag and watched him pull out a small cylinder. "I thought you might like some crappy ice cream," he said. ↗

— Kelly Creagh

#roof-picnic #varen #contentment

You're a dream. Like everything else. ↗

— Kelly Creagh

#illusion #love #romance #varen-nethers #dreams