Page 49 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“It matters to you,” she says softly.
Dorian exhales, running a hand through his red hair. “I suppose it does.” He nods towards the books. “That’s why Iprefer adventures, you know. Things are simpler in stories. The heroes know what’s right, and they act. No hesitation, no second-guessing.”
Selene hums in agreement, tracing the worn spine of the book on her lap. “I used to think that way too.”
Dorian leans against the arm of the chair opposite her, watching her carefully. “And now?”
She hesitates, then admits, “I don’t think I believe in heroes anymore.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Neither do I.”
A silence stretches between them, but it isn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it feels like an understanding of sorts.
Then, Dorian straightens. “Well,” he says, offering a small, wry smile, “perhaps we’ll have to make do with being mediocre, then. Since heroism is off the table.”
Selene doesn’t know what to say to that, but she doesn’t think Dorian could ever bemediocre.He may not look like a dashing hero, but that hardly matters. He was a hero to Thomas, fixing his roof. He was probably a hero to many in the village.
And he’d saved her, too. She just isn’t sure he wants her to point that out.
He glances at the door as if considering leaving, but then hesitates. Instead, he clears his throat. “You should get some rest.”
He turns towards the door.
“Dorian—” Selene begins, half unsure as to why she’s speaking at all.
“Yes?”
“Could you… I mean, only if you wish… if you’re not too busy… would you mind staying?”
She’s certain, as soon as she’s spoken, that he’ll refuse. He doubtlessdoeshave something better to be doing. He’s already wasted plenty of time with her today.
But then, after a brief hesitation, he nods. “All right.”
Selene gestures to the chair opposite her, and Dorian sits, settling into the seat with a sigh, stretching out his long legs. She watches as he selects a book from the stack, flipping it open.
And so they read.
The room is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. The only sounds are the occasional rustle of pages and the gentle crackle of the fire. At one point, Selene shifts to rest her ankle on a cushion, and Dorian glances up, as if to ask if she’s all right, but she only offers a small smile before returning to her book.
Time drifts.
Selene finds herself absorbed in the story, losing track of everything else. She assumes Dorian must be the same, because he doesn’t speak, doesn’t fidget, doesn’t excuse himself.
It isn’t until a knock sounds at the door that either of them looks up.
Marta enters, carrying a tray laden with food. She stops just inside the doorway, blinking at them in surprise. “Oh,” she says, amused. “I wasn’t sure if I should bother bringing dinner up, but it seems you’ve forgotten the hour.”
Selene blinks. The room beyond is darker than it was before, the fire burned lower. She glances at Dorian, and judging by his slightly dazed expression, he hadn’t noticed the time passing either.
“How late is it?” he asks.
Marta grins. “Late enough.”
Selene exhales a quiet laugh, stretching her fingers, realising how long they’ve been curled around the book. She meets Dorian’s gaze, and there’s a flicker of shared amusement there, as if they’ve both stumbled upon something unexpected.
“Well,” Dorian says, closing his book, “I suppose that’s a testament to a good selection.”
Selene smiles. “Or a testament to how much we needed the distraction.”
