Going Home (Steve)

While Caitlin's sisters were pretty, Caitlin was beautiful. Her skin was the color of End stone and her obsidian eyes reflected my face. She wore a green dress with a sand-colored apron smudged with soot. It fell at her ankles so her small feet, in dirt-colored boots, could see the light. Her silky black hair fell in a way that flattered her face. However, these features were meaningless compared to her personality. A small nervous grin on her face mirrored her endearing unsureness. Her steps were shaky and slow. I saw the scars on her face, presumably from the dragon (or her sisters) clawing her face. I did not want those scars there. 

Caitlin held a bucket to catch water in case it dripped on her head. I'm not exactly sure why she does not like water on her head, but she looked pained when it hit. I led her through the meandering pathways and, when we reached the exit, I saw Caitlin pick up a small piece of paper. She tore it in half and folded them into cranes. I was never good at origami. When she tried to teach me how to make a crane in high school, she kept the best one.
         "What led you here?" She asked again. I handed her the crane, which I had kept since she gave it to me. After studying it in the sunlight, she handed it back to me. "How could Giselle lead you here?" 
         "You named the crane? Why?" The words did not come out in the way they used to. What used to be easy for me was now painful and awkward. I feared the effects it would have on my musicianship. I played trumpet, guitar, and other instruments to cope with the small, but still noticeable rift between what I felt and what I said. That rift widened significantly after fighting the dragon.
         "I don't know. It's just...something I do." Caitlin blushed and avoided my gaze. She focused on me again. " We continued on the path. "You could have come for Alisha, Marcinia, or anyone else, but you chose me. It's tradition that the hero saves the most beautiful and, yet, you chose me."
         "I guessed I followed tradition for once in my life." Once again, her cheeks turned a rosy pink, but, this time, a grin accompanied it. I could tell she appreciated the comment, but she quickly denied it.
         "No. I'm too short, too skinny, and have too many scars," She rolled up her sleeves to display several scratch marks from the dragon, a burn from when her sisters tricked her into cleaning a hot oven, and something else I couldn't identify. "I can't carry a conversation very well, freak out over the smallest things, and..." Caitlin started coughing hard. I feared that she would faint, so I stood behind her. She produced an inhaler from her bag and used it. After gasping for air, she regained her composure. "I have asthma and a severe form at that. I can't run for long periods of time. I can't--"
        "Don't talk about yourself like that." Honestly, I couldn't stand it. Aside from the long list, I hated it when other people degraded themselves. I especially hated it when Caitlin cut herself down. I felt a burning, radical love for her that I never felt for anyone else, not even Vivienne. I saw a vision of her walking down the aisle in a flowing white dress and I wanted to be at the end. For once in my life, I wanted to stand still and wait. For her. For us. For that, we made the journey home.