[open] it was an honest mistake;

[Ethenia]

"i don't care for your sweet scent or, the way you want me more than i want you" Though angels and demons have little history of being honest, Ethenia believes him when he says he is from this world. After all, her eyes have deceived her before. Who is to say she is not confusing her reality for dreams, as she does her dreams for reality? All that he presents speaks of warning: no familiar face had found her twice in the past; she is a string of brief, fleeting encounters with no long-drawn goodbyes. She was forgotten, over and over—or perhaps a part of her did not want to be found. And yet here he is, standing before her, asking nothing of her. For a moment she hesitates, considers (again) if this could be a trap, and ultimately decides that it does not matter if it is. Ethenia hazards a delicate step toward him. She extends her long neck, stretching to the length just so her velvet nose may brush against his. It takes but a moment before she quickly withdraws the butterfly-light touch, as if static electricity shocked her backwards a measure. He is here, he is real, she reassures herself, or she would not be able to feel or smell him. A sigh of relief spreads through her as she considers his question. ”I have been…everywhere. And nowhere, at the same time, I suppose.” she pauses, faint spiderwebs of concern creep across her brow, “I see many places but I cannot feel them. I still do not understand how that can be.”  It is more than she has spoken aloud in years, she thinks. Where has she been? Where does she go? How could she explain that she loses herself over and over, and even she can no longer find herself? It is far more than he has asked.  She turns her head downward, forelock spilling into her eyes almost shamefully, and admits”I thought you were an angel, or a ghost.” Ethenia looks across the river, water rushing in the background. She wonders for a moment where it would take her, if she were apart of those rushing waters. How far could it go? Probably not far enough to outrun the things she knows she cannot. Eadoin is no angel, or demon; no, she has yet to learn that sometimes demons are inside of us (angels are, too).  She looks up to find his eyes, (here, present, but also miles away.) “What of you? Where have you gone, to heaven and back? The stars have taken the darkness from your coat.”  She changes the subject, watching him curiously, blinks as the open canvas of innocence returns and the heaviness of uncertainty washes away once again. -- ethenia. -- it was an honest mistake

@Eadoin