“Tristan,” Yvaine whispers, shaking his shoulder, “Tristan, wake up.”
He rises, blinks the sleep away, then follows her up the ladder and through the hatch he’d had installed in their ceiling to grant his wife easy access to the roof.
The air is crisp enough that their breath puffs out white steam and the night sky is empty of clouds. Yvaine stares up at the stars, spilled out across the heavens like rice poured from a bowl. She grips his hand hard enough to hurt.
Tristan tugs at her waist and Yvaine leans trustingly back into him, but her eyes stay fixed on the stars until the dawn.
Tristan/Yvaine (Stardust)
He rises, blinks the sleep away, then follows her up the ladder and through the hatch he’d had installed in their ceiling to grant his wife easy access to the roof.
The air is crisp enough that their breath puffs out white steam and the night sky is empty of clouds. Yvaine stares up at the stars, spilled out across the heavens like rice poured from a bowl. She grips his hand hard enough to hurt.
Tristan tugs at her waist and Yvaine leans trustingly back into him, but her eyes stay fixed on the stars until the dawn.