[She tries to pretend she doesn't feel the slight breaking of her heart, when she hears his reply. Of—of course, she should have known better, and deep down, her battered and beaten heart knew better, that love cannot capture a man within just an hour or so—but her little girlish dreams of a fairytale ending and a mysterious stranger whisking her away had prevailed over that cynical thought. But, still, she clings to the silver outlining of his brutally honest reply.
Not yet, but he could come to love her—perhaps he just isn't sure. Protests stir in her mind, but they are silenced by the intoxicated haze of desire, the feverish desperation, almost a physical ache, to believe that he could love, in time. And if—if she meets his kiss, perhaps she could help him communicate his muddled thoughts.
She yields to another one of his overwhelming kisses with only a murmur, and if she had been in her right mind, she would never have surrendered with such simplicity. But she is not in her mind, and maybe it is the shimmering of the moon, or the odd sense of nostalgia which seems to cling to him, or the pale violet walls which color her mind with thoughts of a maddening sort, the urgency to know his mind, to make this night somehow right. The rhythm of her pulse at her wrist is beginning to pound with a fierce intensity, her heart still feeling heavy, but for the first time, she unskillfully tries to return his passion with her own small, sweet kisses, bashful and innocent.]
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Not yet, but he could come to love her—perhaps he just isn't sure. Protests stir in her mind, but they are silenced by the intoxicated haze of desire, the feverish desperation, almost a physical ache, to believe that he could love, in time. And if—if she meets his kiss, perhaps she could help him communicate his muddled thoughts.
She yields to another one of his overwhelming kisses with only a murmur, and if she had been in her right mind, she would never have surrendered with such simplicity. But she is not in her mind, and maybe it is the shimmering of the moon, or the odd sense of nostalgia which seems to cling to him, or the pale violet walls which color her mind with thoughts of a maddening sort, the urgency to know his mind, to make this night somehow right. The rhythm of her pulse at her wrist is beginning to pound with a fierce intensity, her heart still feeling heavy, but for the first time, she unskillfully tries to return his passion with her own small, sweet kisses, bashful and innocent.]