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𑁍̤ ❛ HAUNTING ―― LINGERS BEHIND . . .
𝘈 𝘚𝘔𝘌𝘓𝘓 𝘖𝘍 𝘚𝘐𝘓𝘒 *
a fanfiction based on a crossover between 'who made me a princess' and 'death is the only ending for the villainess' // tw : just in c...
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" WHAT ? " having caught the set of azure eyes fixated on her , penelope questioned , turning back to look at the man who sat a few steps away from her . he averted his eyes away , instead looking down at the hem of the teacup in front of him , finger tracing the edge of it .
his voice is quiet , and yet clear in spite of the rhythmic patter of rain against the glass window , " you looked lost in thought ―what was it ? " in lieu of an answer , she earns herself a question ― like always ; it makes a ghost of a grin appear on her face . " i was thinking about home . " she states simply in response .
it amuses penelope , the way he had always stared at her . like she was a puzzle he was struggling to solve ― one he is failing in doing so , but trying regardless ― with an unexplained , ineffable awe in those peculiar eyes of his .
it made her feel important , unlike the fake princess who was the wicked princess of eckart she was known to be , someone who was blamed on without any solid explanation just for the sake of closing matters .
" home ? you mean inca ? " he quips , bringing her back from her reverie . not knowing how else to answer― penelope nods , patiently adding , " yes , i miss my father . and the eckart mansion , i have a lot of memories attached to that place . " she doesn't elaborate further on the topic , choosing to turn her back to the half painted canvas in front of her .
she busies herself with mixing a particular shade to fill into the flames of the sun she'd outlined meticulously over the cloth . the rustle of fabric behind her is barely audible , but the feel of heat radiating behind her is what catches penelope's attention .
a hand elevates to pick a brush for her ― only then the realisation that she'd picked the wrong brush comes . embarrassed , penelope accepts , apply the paint to it .
" this is your home too , " his voice is tranquil , catching her by surprise . " i know , your highness . " she replies , her back to him , still .
penelope continues what she had been doing , rising to paint the sun on the canvas , efficiently masking the demure manner her mouth had upturned to involuntarily .
he puts his own hand atop hers ― following the strokes on the canvas . dry laughter enlaced words , then follow " i hope you make enough memories here too , enough to miss obelia if you were to go for a long interval . "
