show them the joy and the pain and the ending
She has seen him, of course, but now she looks upon him with her own two eyes. Studies him with open, undaunted curiosity. Traces the scars, the legs, the swirl of sand. And she smiles, a slow grin full of double-edged delight.
There is an audacity to his words that suits him well. It does not surprise her, men like him always seem to be so very sure of themselves. He is half right, that she will give him. She is her father’s child (no matter that she takes after her mother in appearance). But more, she is a product of her grandmother. She had been named after the woman (long dead now), but she had inherited far more than that from her. Oh, her father had instilled some of his quieter qualities into her, else she might have become far more awful than she now is. More cruel and callous.
He had done his very best to raise a willful, headstrong child. But her temperament is not one given to taming.
”Is that so?” she asks, eyes widening innocently (a contrived innocence, one she doubts he will believe). ”Hm, I cannot say that I see it.” The smile that follows is bright and hard and fierce, amusement lacing the edges.
”Heartfire.” she continues after a brief pause. ”And you? What do they call you, my dear enchanter?” There is a levity to her tone now, the faintest of taunts curling about those clear, humored notes.
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts