More than Enough

The gardens. It is location where certain individuals can be located with ever-increasing probability, as of late. Under the dark sky covered in gray clouds and surrounded by blossoms muted by the dim, Verna sits upon a bench. The Mouner... is not blatantly recognizable as such at present: there are no robes. Instead, her attire is a simple white dress that stops short of the knee-high boots. A cloak is present, albeit folded upon her lap at the moment. Neither do any tomes hover nor rest upon her lap. Instead, her focus is upon her surroundings, or a spot thereof, though that may only be the direction of eyes rather than thoughts. At least she does not pace at this time?

Eventually, something does appear from the direction that Verna is looking. Though for a change the personage is not immediately visible through the dark. Her black-and-gray dress is warm enough that she can do without the coat tonight. There are ruffles around the edge of the dress, and a huge fluffy tiered bow hangs off throat of the high-neck. The only sign of color about her is the warm brown hue of her skin which looks all the warmer in these tones, and her pinkened curls which bounce as she walks.

She spies Verna at a distance, and immediately a warm smile spreads across her face, particularly when she notes the white dress that Verna is wearing today. She hastens across the distance between them, the darkness giving way around her slender form reluctantly, but decisively once she reaches the light of the lamps. "Ooooh Verna! It's lovely!"

Verna's eyes shift to the arrival, though her focus may not fully follow until several Auranar steps later. Admittedly, even without the helpful mana lamps, the contrast of Verna's complexion, attire, and hair are certainly... stark? Moreso than shades of gray.

Her eyes follow the darkly-dressed syl as she approaches and then look her over from top to bottom. After, she nods. "The garden is quite lovely, indeed." She then utters three words that every woman might wish to hear. "Hotaru. Charn. Aya."

On second thought, perhaps not every, but one, at least.

There's a beat where the words stop Auranar in her tracks. Where she... doesn't quite wait for an explosion, but where they startle her and then she's filled with joy. Immediately she rushes over to Verna, trying to catch up the other woman's hands so that she can hold them both in her own. "It's done?" She almost can't believe it, it's too good to be true.

Verna's hands are present, and easily caught from where they rest atop her lap. They are warm, as well, despite (or due to?) the lack of gloves at present. "I needed to be certain." She then nods again, though minimally so her focus can remain upon Auranar. "It is done. I was not a Mourner, but rather a supplicant. Afterwards..." Verna pauses as she tips her head at herself and gives a light shrug. "There was no immediate need to dress again as one just yet, nor did I wish to return to my vault."

There's such joy in Auranar's features. "Up!" She tugs on Verna's hands eagerly, her smile warm and open. She feels like the weight of a world has been released from her shoulders. As if everyone in the world should know that one small piece of evil in the world is gone. That the world is a better place now than it was before. "I'm glad you're here Verna. I'm glad you're with me." Her eyes are shining. "That's what matters."

Verna has always considered Auranar uplifting. In this instance, it is physical as well. That, or Verna may not wish to lose the hands... or she is very adept at following instructions. Perhaps all of the above.

As hands help rise her body, Aura's smile lifts her expression into a mirror of it. "Just as I am glad that you are here, with me. I was terrified that I might lose some part of what I know of you, feel for you." If such did occur, there is no notable lack at this moment.

Auranar doesn't wait. The moment that Verna is standing she gets a hug. Auranar doesn't let her go either, resting her head on Verna's shoulder and huffing out a soft sigh. "Honestly... I couldn't bear even thinking that. It would be too cruel of the gods to finally rid us of him at such a cost." She squeezes Verna tightly. "But I'd spend every second I could reminding you of me if that's what it took to bring us here again."

While it is more comfortable in the gardens, it is not unduly warm. Until now? The embrace and words cause Verna to ... melt. She leans heavily into the taller, sturdier, and exceptionally comforting syl. The only firm portion remaining is her return of the embrace.

A breath escapes into Auranar's shoulder: heavily, as if relief from one held for far too long. "Then do not think such things, for they are not," she now assures. "Yet ... you are still welcome to remind me with your presence, smile, and all else, as often as you wish..."

The words draw a chuckle out of Auranar. "Well, that I think I would enjoy." Reminding Verna that she is cared for is after all, something that is a priority for Auranar. "For now though, all I want is to be able to hold you and know you're safe. Just now. Even if it's for a moment before you rush into some new danger."

Verna is silent for a moment, absorbing the chuckle and words. She then lifts her head somewhat to note, "We are here, and safe, but two women in lovely garden." Not Mourner, not scholar; no vendettas nor divine callings here. "The future may bring dangers, duties, or studies, but they are not my only priorities, dearest. I am yours, thus you are welcome to as long, and as many, moments as you wish." She relents slightly in the hug if only to give a squeeze of affirmation.

It's really all that Auranar had hoped for. This moment right now. If she could have made it last forever, she would have. She returns the squeeze with one of her own, lapsing to silence. Listening to Verna's reassurances and she finally relents in her hug just enough to look into Verna's eyes. "I am yours, and you are mine. And soon we'll have a little place of our own to share. It's more than I ever thought I'd have Verna. I'm so grateful to have you in my life."

The met gaze and, moreso, the initial words leave Verna without words of her own for a moment. Yet, her sense of delight and perhaps awe are evident enough in her eyes. After a moment, she nods and notes, firmly, "A place to make our own". It is not -quite- a correction. "A home, which I look forward to building with you."

There is a ghost of a fleeting thought of how the innumerable vile machinations of a certain individual may have had an unintended wondrous boon. That the horrid and trying events did bring them both together, perhaps even orchestrated their meeting in the first place.

Just as quickly, the thought is gone. No. F$#@! him. No more thoughts of that, and she shall not grant him -that- credit.

"Beneath the vine-clad eves, Whose shadow falls before." Auranar lifts a hand motioning to the gardens and then touching Verna's face. "Thy lowly cottage door. Under the lilac's tremulous leaves, Within thy snowy claspeed hand, The purple flowers it bore... Last eve in dreams, I saw thee."

She lets the poem written for another fall away, but for her the only name left is Verna's own. "I am no poet like the one who wrote for the woman of his dreams, but I feel his words and see you in them."

Verna's eyes follow the motion, though they immediately snap back to Auranar at the touch. Metaphor is not her strongest suit, much less prose, yet she is familiar with such (and mostly so due to the woman before her). The digestion of the dialogue is apparent in her gaze, analytical mind hard at work behind them to parse, collate, and evaluate.

"I..." Verna falters at an eloquent response. She is far, far less a poet compared to Auranar than Auranar compared to the most gifted in Ea. Instead, her strength lies in clear, concise, irrefutable fact.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

And so far, that's been more than enough.

-End