who knows, maybe i'll find myself out there
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Madelaine drops her coat, heels and red-tinted sunglasses on a nearby armchair before commanding, “Make room,” as she drops horizontally on the couch, throwing her legs over Vesper’s lap.
Vesper obeys without second thought, her hands coming to rest on top of Madelaine’s knees. “Comfortable?” She asks, which Madelaine would consider flirting if it came from anyone else, but not Vesper. Never from Vesper.
It’s as infuriating as it is a relief.
A part of Madelaine feels like she should hate Vesper. Another wants to sink her teeth into the other girl's throat just to see what happens.
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“That’s— good,” Madelaine says, haltingly, as though unsure how to proceed when not getting met with an argument. Vesper always feels just the tiniest bit triumphant whenever she makes the older girl falter.
She turns on her seat then, away from her vanity and instead facing the bed in which Vesper is perched on. She looks the other girl up and down, frowning as she mutters, “Twenty one, huh.”
“So?”
She scowls, “I cannot believe you’re older than me, even by a technicality.”
“Because I’m not,” Vesper says easily, “You’ve lived so much more than me — and I’m not calling you old, I’m just stating a fact,” she adds when Madelaine opens her mouth to try and start another argument.
Maybe Vesper isn't half-human, half-bat. Maybe the Reverand was right and she's always been half-nothing. Maybe she wants more things than she should, and maybe she doesn't have a choice but to deal with that. She just wishes everything wasn't so needlessly complicated.
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