You are too sweet, my cold-chicken love! <3 <3 <3 I saw this shortly before my surgery and had hoped to sneak it onto the dash much sooner, in part because it gives me the perfect opportunity to
tease thank you with a little snippet from Ch 12 (in which there shall be copious references to “crumbs”…). :D
Totally presenting this without context, by the bye. *twirls moustache deviously*
I’m still hungry, truth be told, but not for food. I’ve never been so hungry, not even on the hollowest night; never been so desperate to be filled, nor so certain that I never will be, and it’s all Peeta’s fault. This boy has stretched me with his bounty and carved me out like a honeycomb, lining me with hollows that can only be filled by his golden sweetness. The honey of his touch and his voice and his gaze.
Peeta Mellark is a feast that I have been invited to enjoy, however fleetingly, and the fare is wondrous. The honey-bread of his arms, the spiced wine of his breath. I’ve grown accustomed to this meal. I thrive upon it; require it, even, for my survival.
But all too soon – so soon it burns like a needle plunged deep into my heart – another will be here to partake of him, and I will be relegated from this place of honor and made to subsist on crumbs. On brief glances and kind words in passing; perhaps a hug at holiday-time.
I can live on crumbs, I think. I’ve lived on far less, but not since the night I took Peeta’s bargain – since he became a part of my daily life. My life before him was like a meal of blackbirds in gravy – no, worse, like mint broth bolstered with pebbles – and I can’t go back to that. Not after a month of feasting upon his company.
~ When the Moon Fell in Love with the Sun, Ch 12, “Of Braids and Brides” (in progress)