Hold on to this lullaby; even when the music's gone

She tends to gravitate towards the strong ones, perhaps because she feels weak and has been made to feel weak and docile her entire life. This was a different feeling entirely, the way her gift would be used regularly and openly within the home as opposed to being squandered and feared. She fears the way she feels after, the dizziness and the way it drops her to her knees and the way she can't stop it or even begin it. It is instinct, a defense mechanism that rises to her call should she need it. We are not using enough for that, you will not faint. That becomes a mantra in her mind, twisting to rise to the forefront of her brain.

I am pleased with you. She thinks those are the only words that has her still standing here, her unwillingness to cause displeasure in this case. At his words, she is sure it is rhetoric but she shakes her head anyway. Her father had restricted her from all access to her gift, less she endanger those around her. Perhaps he'd been too stubborn to teach her, unwilling to take the slightest amount of time or patience to do so and even going so far as to order Nathaniel not to even try. Nathaniel being the dutiful son had conceded to their father's wishes and becoming her own security net when she needed it.

"Control it, do not let it control me," Her words are said softly but she knows that he can hear her, there was a flicker of determination in her voice, the cadence hardening for the briefest of moments before it flees back to her softer voice. She watches him move then, careful not to shift her own body and only gasps softly when he presses close, his chest fitting snug against her back. She doesn't move, unsure of what he wishes until his voice breaks the silence and his hands are on her elbows and goose bumps prickle her flesh.

This is a different feeling than the night in the kitchen, that night had been born of instinct when she'd dragged her body down his. Instinct, nothing more. This seemed to have a different sense to it, similar but more demanding, more gentle. She tries to relax and the first time she fails, too distracted by him standing so close, closing her eyes she shifts against him then, pressing herself further back if only slightly and getting rid of the miniscule space between them. It is easier this time, easier with the physicality of him behind her to let her body relax, her shoulders dropping from their tense position, the furrows of her brows are gone leaving her features smooth and unmarked. The only hesitation came from when she bit down on her lip but her body is calm beneath his touch as his fingers run down her arms causing the flesh to rise again. Only when his fingers twined with hers did she hesitate only a moment, not wanting to hurt him, before grasping his hands. Using it as a lifeline to pull her back should she need it.

"Flow. Not explode. No mess." Her words are fractured, lulled by the contentment she felt. She takes a breath, sharply pulling it between her lips before mumbling something about 'flowing.' It takes a few heartbeats for her to start feeling her gift stirring beneath her skin, a tugging in her gut that she associated with it. She pulls it up, her eyes still shut firmly, letting it warm her body as it went before settling in her chest. A few heartbeats more before she lets it rush down her arms, she was sure she must be flushing with all this power, she stops it before it reaches her hands; pleasantly surprised that it listened to her. Flow, not explode. She pulls in a breath again before releasing it to let it flow into her hands, running over her fingers and into his hands.

She is full of wonder at this feeling before her brain kicks into overdrive and she is wondering what she is doing and why. "This is wrong," her body shifts as if deciding it needs to get away from this very pleasant feeling because her brain says it needs to. But it finds a barrier in his arms, her body tensing back up, the muscles in her arms straining against his before knowing this is not a way to go. Instead, she tries to go backwards, meeting resistance in his warmth. She tosses her head, her eyes snapping open; she stills for a moment her head swimming with the onslaught of all of these conflicting feelings. Good but bad. Shouldn't use it, should use it. She presses back against him then, twisting her body to face him regardless of the way he held her and pressed her face against his chest. She inhales a shaky breath, pulling in his scent with it, the trembling in her body almost too much for her to bear, "But it feels so good." A shake of her head, she can feel that inky darkness but instead of giving into it, all there is is tears running down her cheeks as she tilts her head back to look up at him.