06-16-2024, 07:17 PM
I know that my countenance remains steady, but that is paltry reassurance against the growing feeling of discomfort as the stallion replies. Many have tried…Does he mean it? Have others tried to kill him? Whatever reasons they had do not seem to be concerning to the now-grinning Zain, who despite having been murdered, remains polite enough.
He chooses to use the title, and so I continue to act the queen.
On a diplomatic mission, Zain says, and at that my steady countenance does finally move beyond polite interest. There is intrigue in my blue-grey eyes, at this possibility of action in the world, of change. Of sorts, he had said, and I raise my brows in a nonverbal request to elaborate.
When he turns back to the statue, my gaze follows his, settling on the stone figure.
“The Bloody-Shouldered Queen.” I reply, tracing the old red stains with my eyes, my face carefully neutral. The stone there is chipped and diamond sharp - even the lightest brush against it drawing blood. Most of it is old, but not all.
“She rewards those who act in protection of this land.” I tell Zain about how spilling one’s own blood on the statue results in horns (I tilt my ivory crown) and wings (a brief shimmer of golden light in the shape of butterfly wings at my sides). There is no hint of distaste on my face as I speak, no indication that I find the thing off-putting
I had not shed my own blood for those, and yet as I once again meet the glowing absent eyes of the skeletal Zain, I choose not to reveal my inexperience in true battle. I am not judging him solely on his appearance, I remind myself. Many someones had found him worthy of death.
“Who rules in Pangea these days?” I ask, feeling more comfortable returning to the diplomacy from earlier. My neutral expression has once more become one of polite interest, and I shift my weight as a daffodil comes to blossom against my pale gold cannon.
@
Zain
He chooses to use the title, and so I continue to act the queen.
On a diplomatic mission, Zain says, and at that my steady countenance does finally move beyond polite interest. There is intrigue in my blue-grey eyes, at this possibility of action in the world, of change. Of sorts, he had said, and I raise my brows in a nonverbal request to elaborate.
When he turns back to the statue, my gaze follows his, settling on the stone figure.
“The Bloody-Shouldered Queen.” I reply, tracing the old red stains with my eyes, my face carefully neutral. The stone there is chipped and diamond sharp - even the lightest brush against it drawing blood. Most of it is old, but not all.
“She rewards those who act in protection of this land.” I tell Zain about how spilling one’s own blood on the statue results in horns (I tilt my ivory crown) and wings (a brief shimmer of golden light in the shape of butterfly wings at my sides). There is no hint of distaste on my face as I speak, no indication that I find the thing off-putting
I had not shed my own blood for those, and yet as I once again meet the glowing absent eyes of the skeletal Zain, I choose not to reveal my inexperience in true battle. I am not judging him solely on his appearance, I remind myself. Many someones had found him worthy of death.
“Who rules in Pangea these days?” I ask, feeling more comfortable returning to the diplomacy from earlier. My neutral expression has once more become one of polite interest, and I shift my weight as a daffodil comes to blossom against my pale gold cannon.
@
Zain