It's one thing to have been noticed by anyone, but by two? Cerva's attention lies heavily on Trystane as he mirrors her kindness and speaks in a voice that lulls her into solace. What she feared would be an awkward encounter is quickly (and easily) becoming so much more. The grin that tips up the corners of his mouth are genuine and she can feel his sincerity wrap her in a warm embrace. Temptation brings her a step closer but she stops herself. What could have possibly drawn him to her? She is lackluster in comparison to her siblings and parents and she isn't quite as twisted as one would expect her to be. Maybe it's that she is a black sheep, but there is no way he could know that. It could simply be that he enjoys her company and enjoys her for what she is and not what she pretends to be.
"You did," she admits with a shy tilt of her head, "but not in a bad way." No, not at all. She drinks in the attention like nectar, surprised that she is enjoying it so much. His heart is of gold, his voice honeyed and kind. It's enough to hold her here with her eyes still plastered on him until a different voice breaks the pause. In a single swift motion she turns her attention to the third of their party and offers him an amiable grin though her eyes briefly flicker to Trystane. "Hello, Ganymeade, I'm Cerva." Just Cerva. No title, no extravagance. Nothing.
And somehow, that is oddly relieving.
"Company sounds nice," she has to swallow the lump in her throat to say this because it was one thing to have just Trystane, but now the couple has become a trio. Conversation with strangers isn't her forte but she tries to hold steady and mask herself in sheer comfort. This is an opportunity to become who - or what - she wants; she can't let it slip through her fingers. Cerva realizes that it isn't in her near future to be a sociable creature, but she is at least trying in this moment. They are both kind, at least. Her reassurances soothe her, croon to her, and eat away the discomfort that was beginning to crawl up her neck. "A fine night indeed, although a little chilly." Her breath is a white plume coiling in front of her. There is beauty in the cold, but there is also an ugliness. Her plants, her precious poison, lies dormant for these next few months. The vibrant greens and reds are faded to browns and grays, grotesque and dormant. By now she should be used to it and yet she can't help but always dread the winter. "So where are you both from?" Feeding off Trystane she offers her own question to the small talk among them.
Cerva