WITCH HUNT » the mandalorian

THIRTEEN

"How come you hear my thoughts and I can't hear yours?" He asked, lifting his head to lean it over his palm and hovering over her. A blanket draped his chest and hers, shrouding them from the frigid atmosphere in the ship. His armour was left behind at the footing of where they laid and she looked back at the metal ceiling with a slow sigh.

"Because," she muttered, "there's not much to see."

"Disagreed," he chuckled. "It's probably got its own archives, too. Legends, myths and whatnot."

"I can tell you what I'm thinking," she suggested with a faltering smile, "just ask me."

"Okay," he laughed through his nose, thinking of how it was so simple to get acquiescence. "What're you thinking about, Myra?"

"I'm thinking," she breathed out, brushing her hair behind her shoulder to roll onto her side and face him completely. She was leaving no holes barred while he wanted her to think about him. "I'm thinking of what's at the edge of the galaxy."

"Probably another galaxy."

She frowned. "Ssh."

"Okay, sorry. Shutting up."

"At the edge," she stressed, lengthening on the word as if it were far, far away. "Beside oblivion. Probably a little planet with its own sunset and sunrise—I want to go there."

"No wonder I can't hear your thoughts," he teased with a smile tugging his lips, laugh lines rippling away. "They're insane."

She rolled her eyes, falling unto her back. Lolling an arm over her eyes, she breathed out deeply, eliminating all the tension that had balled up into her chest. Always thinking, every now and then, daydreaming; that was it for her. Her mind was uncomplicated and abrupt while overthinking was her dislike, it clung to her like foul breath. And just like her past, she left it unanswered. 

"Myra."

"Mhmm."

"Can I touch you?"

She grinned without seeing him, a teasing one. "You finally learned."

"That's a yes?"

"Yes."

Overwhelmed, he flickered his gaze over her poised body. He could only continue to dazedly stare for a few moments before Myra chucked his chin gently. 

"You're mine, aren't you?"

"Exclusively." It almost sounded like a hint for something else. Myra simply overlooked it. 

"Then I'm yours." She nodded once, motioning for him to go ahead. "Come closer."

Din, finally encouraged, stroked her head first. He was careful to be gentle, using the very pads of his fingertips to feel her. She was beyond human—an infinite spirit he could never deserve. Her hair was an obsidian river, smoothing over her dusky skin and he loved it when they braided themselves against his fingertips, like tendrils with a mind of their own. If he looked close enough, there was a smidgen of gold lingering on the length. 

"I like it when you pleat it," he murmured blankly. "Especially when you fold it with flowers."

"Flowers you gift," she teased.

"You don't like them?" He sounded disheartened.

"I'd be a fool if I didn't." She smiled, leaning forward to kiss his nose. "The flowers are magical. I'd love more."

"Good," he mumbled.

His warm touch had arrived over her hip, turning over her side so he could view her back and lifting the hem of her dress carefully. A single one of his fingers trod down the visible bones of her spine, slowly and seemingly tracing the ink patterns that laid scattered over her back. Most of her ink had manifested over her back, the ones that were truly important had been on the noticeable side.