Morana looked at their hands, so close and so apart, comparing the differences, the similarities. Both pairs of hands excellently talented in their respective fields, yet his was dark, rough, with veins and long, wide fingers, with blunt nails and a smattering of hair at the back. Hers looked so much paler, smoother, so much smaller, the tips painted a bright green. Seeing their hands together like that, watching the thick forearms alongside her delicate wrists, something fluttered in the pit of her stomach.
