#enarmor
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Mark I know this is probably funny for you but how many turns are you going to make me rescue drop Lyn so you can boss abuse? my arms are getting tired
As many times as it takes, Sain, though I’m sorry your arms are hurting! I’ll be happy to help with your chores if you need more time to rest tonight.
#together we ride! (ask)#LSDFKJSFLKS THIS IS MAKING ME HOWL#enarmor#winds across the plains (ic)#cavalier (sain)#sainmark
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"Ah! Ethlyn, dear!"
Sain calls to her with a grand wave of his arm, standing at the opposite end of the courtyard. His other arm is cupped around his mouth to help better project his voice. "Over here! I've got something I think you'll like!"
He doesn't wait for her to walk over, instead cutting the distance short and striding across the grass himself. It is a vibrant green, made brighter by the high sun in the sky and absence of gloomy clouds. Perfect weather to adorn the day of a perfect girl. "A little bird told me that today was your birthday--Oh, but don't tell me how old you are! Your beauty has yet to fade, and age shouldn't be something to concern yourself with."
Fishing through his pocket reveals a humble wooden box. He pulls it out and taps on its lid. "Your neck, if I may."
Stepping with his heel, Sain circles around to the back of Ethlyn's head. He opens the box in her blind spot and, after delicately moving her hair back, retrieves a necklace to adorn her nape with. Its string is a high-quality fiber, woven together by arduous work and years of practice. Lining it entire length, like seashells along the shore, are cherry blossom petals. They have been dried and coated in a scented ointment, sure to be preserved for as long as she would like to wear them. The deep hue of pink perfectly reflects her hair and kind soul, bringing to mind the image of beauty staunchly preserved on a field of war. And in its center, down where her sternum kisses the surface of her skin, a pink jewel glitters. Framed by gold, it possesses an expensive quality to it--calling into question just how much Sain spent on the gift.
But that's a secret he'll never tell.
He bounces away from her to get a closer look, nodding in affirmation once he has seen for himself how well of a match it is. "Perfect! Happy birthday, darling. May you see many more under the protection of your bravest knight."
Oh boy. Here it comes. Sain's very obvious call-out is difficult to ignore and becomes impossible to avoid when he makes his way toward her. She wishes he had caught her earlier when she had Quan at her side. She gives him a sheepish little wave. At least the courtyard is mostly empty this time of day.
Ethlyn expects the sickeningly sweet words at this point. She's prepared for them any time the two run into each other. The gift though. That is unexpected. Especially once he steps around behind her and fastens it around her neck himself. She's glad she's facing away from him and he can't see the red hot flush that creeps across freckled cheeks.
"This is... it's gorgeous, really." She's not about to lie just because the gesture is way over the top. It is lovely and it is nice to be thought of. She turns around to face him to let him see the sincerity in her eyes. "But I can't accept this. Sain, I'm married. I have two kids enrolled here. This is really kind of you but I can't let you spend your hard earned money on me like this. I can't give you anything in return except for my friendship. Find yourself someone special who can give you their heart."
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Byleth sighed inwardly as they entered the arena and saw the final rounds enemy. Legends of yore once more though in shadowy form, all of who the Professor recognised. They moved swiftly too, taking out one of their own before their team even got a hit in. Byleth felt and ember of anger alight in their chest and they stepped up to the plate. The dancer withdrew their blade and set off across the sand feet moving to their own tempo. Channelling the rhythmic drum of their feet and the moves they’d recently learned, byleths blade flashed out to strike the dragon ish form of Corrin.
Roll d20 Result 15+4 =19 Critical Hit! Damage -7hp [Corrin 5/12hp]
Roll :d2 Result 1 Stunned
The force of the blow wasn’t massive but targeted at a place designed to knock the enemy to the ground. It played out as Byleth imagined, locking Corrin in place. Not pausing in their movements, continuing the dance, Byleth followed up with a second strike. Jabbing their sword into the gaps in Corrin’s scales.
Roll d20 Result 11+4=15 Critical Hit, Damage -7hp [Corrin 0.5/12hp]
Surprised that the shadow was holding on, Byleth retreated back to their remaining allies. “Suppose I shouldn’t have expect even an emblem dragon to be felled so easily. Still I reckon the next hit should suffice”
@pirrhyc
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[ Splash ] - Amid the new water features present is a beautiful fountain. Come refresh yourselves! Your overseers will make sure you don’t stay soaked after the fact. Probably.
"Hey Reed!" That no-good scoundrel, that pillar of the Fang he so detests. Just what kind of world does Sain live in where evildoers can get away with looking like... Like that?
With the man's attention in his grasp, the knight smirks. He reaches his lightning-charged hand into the fountain, and as soon as his mark infuses itself into its waters he lets loose a gigantic splash.
"Catch!!"
The electrified waters are going to hurt like a toke of Bolting, but at least they transfer Sain's mark onto Lloyd's necklace.
He had just wetly stepped back out of the fountain after a certain demon woman had drunkenly chosen to shove him into it -- Lloyd was absolutely coming back to that at a later point, when both parties were...sober -- when someone called out to him.
Not a familiar voice, though when Lloyd scanned the area for its owner, the man's face was one he recognized. Another of the knights, if he recalled -- not just here, for the church, but back in Elibe. Lycian. Caelin?
He didn't have too much time to think about it, as the man dips his hand into the waters of the fountain with something like mischief...or worse. There was no way to see that the water had been charged with electricity, or that Sain's element was Lightning, so when the Lycian told him to catch, Lloyd was expecting to only get splashed with more water.
Pain like hundreds of jabbing needles all over his body, muscles spasming and body going rigid against his will.
Fucking ouch??
That was essentially the only intelligible thought bouncing around in his skull as Lloyd tipped backwards and hit the floor.
Sparks sure did fly at these events, didn't they? But, hey, that Lightning flower sure did seem happy!
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Luminary Trail: Just outside of the party is a path lit by luminaries. It’s a perfect place to get some fresh air or escape from the hustle and bustle for a moment. Make sure to watch where you are walking. Those paper bags look pretty flammable!
"Oh! You there!"
"Sorry if this is sudden, but might I stop you for something?"
"That accessory of yours is rather cute. I think it goes great with your hair!"
"So, if you don't mind me asking, is there a place you got it? In truth, I've been in need of one myself. I normally have a headband, but tonight I'm without--and you make it look so lovely!"
"Ah, and I'm Sain, by the way. Sain the most devoted knight."
An eerie silence hangs following the line of questioning. There's nothing that Sain's done wrong here, not at all - Niamh's just...processing all of this. He wants to know this? Why was he commenting on her hair?
(Poor Sain. He still has to experience the silent, hard to decipher stare as she's taking it all in).
Eventually, she places a hand by her mask. "...it's custom-made..." she wonders how much to disclose - if anything, she's more intrigued why he's interested. "Why do you want it...?"
The luminaries that light the inky darkness does nothing to soften the serious stare that follows.
#enarmor#toabaldrsbounty#ic thread#me looking at this and going OH NO im so sorry in advance#but THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK I weep
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"Princess?"
The back of Sain's knuckle knocks twice. Hers is a chamber akin to sacred ground: it houses a goddess, inside walls stained with glass, and sunlight petering onto flowers of holy ambrosia. It is a temple--of birds and love, and all sorts of pretty things--demanding the most of his respect. He'd bow his head, were the door made of more than humble wood. Still, rather than barge in of his own volition, Sain makes his presence known. He trusts that the sound of his voice would be enough of an identifier.
The knob turns. The knight enters.
"Ah... Your face. My love, did the simulation treat you harshly? I should have that monk's head, making a fair maiden put up with so much!" He's joking, mostly. A smile brighter than spring buds stretches over his cheeks, and a cheerful lift pushes his eyelids shut. Sain is the very picture of glee: a sensation no doubt brought about by seeing Priscilla's face. "You need not frown anymore, my dear. Your stalwart defender is here to mend your broken heart!"
Stepping closer, he takes her hand into his. Gentle fingers are treated like a newly hatched chick the way they are handled so delicately. Sain is sure not to tug on her wrist, nor stress her out with a grip too firm. Soft skin is smoothed by his own, and after a wink, brought to his lips to kiss. Once, to say he loves her. Twice to worship her beauty and grace. Thrice, for no manner of time nor space will ever keep them apart. She is the apple of his eye, capturing his heart with her song sweet as dove's.
"But... It is good to see you safe. I might wallow for a hundred years if forced to part with you again!" He parts with Priscilla's hand, but not without leaving it with a parting gift. A chamomile, freshly picked and with petals white as a cherub's wing, enters her grasp. It is the wordless way of saying I wish healing upon you, and I am here, should you falter.
He returns his hand to his side, but leaves a loop open for her to sling hers around.
"Do tell me if any part of you aches, though. I'll treat your wounds as tenderly as you treated mine."
She need only raise her voice loud enough to be heard through the door, for Sain required little more than an answer that wasn't no.
Not that his company is unwelcome. Hardly so, in fact. Quietly, Priscilla covets these things. In Etruria they had been allowed only in daydreams -- meant to be told only in a blushing maiden's whisper, hidden behind a carefully cupped hand.
The door closes behind him, and so Priscilla takes in the figure of her knight within the threshold of her room. Such is a thing she still has the instinct to savor, for the concept that their days together are not numbered is one that she has still yet grasped.
"That would hardly be necessary," she says with a soft shake of her head. Though, to his credit, the corners of her lips have quirked just so slightly.
He does not need to know how frequently she thought of him, then -- how the image of his lance or the singed corpse of his most beloved friend had filled her with enough grief to last a lifetime.
And as he approaches, stepping across the expanse of her room as though it is something greater than him, Priscilla feels butterflies flutter unbidden in her chest. Curse him, she thinks, unable to move from where she has perched at her windowsill.
It is with a care greater than she has perhaps ever seen that he handles her. Priscilla prays he does not notice how her hand trembles at the brush of his lips, that the warmth creeping up her neck has not reached her cheeks.
"I... yes, the feeling is mutual..." Fingers close around his own for a single heartbeat, holding them hostage just long enough to claim a moment of this affection as her own.
And when she lets go, when his touch is replaced with delicate ivory, Priscilla shuts her eyes.
"It would seem that, in your company, I have forgotten what ails me."
Princess rises, brushing wrinkles from the fabric of her skirt, and carefully threads her arm within his.
"Thank you, Sain..."
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aloe : how does your muse handle grief ?
BOTANICAL HEADCANONS ・ accepting! ( asked also by @sublimeflowoftime and @enarmor! ) ( brief warning for very small suicide attempt mention in second paragraph )
though i want to say her reaction would be extreme, it actually isn't. in fact, it's the opposite? her handle on grief, reaction-wise, is quite calculated despite the immediate dissociation as if her heart doesn't fully understand that she's supposed to be grieving.
likewise, the only times i can remember Zephia being forced to grieve, with her whole heart, is after the destruction of her village and before Griss' death ( as she had bled out before he did ). her instinct in light of both incidents was to take back control; younger her immediately tried to destroy her Dragonstone and, to an extent, herself instead of idly carrying or being the cause of her parents' deaths while pre-death her used the rest of her magic to create a crystal for Alear, more to spite Sombron than to help Alear despite it doing just that and her words insinuating the latter.
so, in a way, it could be argued that Zephia doesn't really acknowledge grief properly until a loooong time passes. her first instinct will always be to regain the control she lost from "grieving" in the first place. and by not recognizing grief as an actual emotion until centuries pass, she tends to forget exactly what brought the grief upon her in the first place. and that kind of just... ruins the whole healing process. it's like a continuous cycle.
I wish I could give a more elaborate answer but Zephia, at her core, is a person who doesn't waste much time on the human aspects that make her, her. that's just not who she is or who she was raised to be; both by her tribe and Sombron.
for example, instead of actually being sad about Marni's betrayal ( which I can confidently say had an impact on her, no matter if the said impact was big or not ), she immediately killed the hound instead of wasting time to wonder what drove Marni to act the way she did. while that was cruel and Zephia's uncaring comments on it were heartless, I truly believe that it was her form of grieving. taking back the control she loses is the only comfort she deems necessary to helping her feel better.
however, another factor might just be that she didn't really care that much for Marni at that time since she had yet to realize the dynamic they had was what she had wanted all along. so, to Zephia of the past and present, that incident wouldn't even be counted as something to grieve over. but there is no doubt that she does care about her.
anywho, my last note on this is to reiterate that grief likely isn't an emotion she's been subjected to a lot, which, in her thousands of years alive, wouldn't make her as responsive or familiar with it.
#queue tag tba.#aubins#sublimeflowoftime#enarmor#☽ ━━━━━━ ❝ she; the daughter known by her teeth ・ 【 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 】 .#☽ ━━━━━━ ❝ to appease the handmade goddess ・ 【 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 】 .#engage spoilers#about half of her character is me making shit up since little is known about her in canon and she's not the type to pour out her feelings#thank goodness zelestia exists PLUS she and griss had their heart-to-heart and she died... finally an honest woman#really wanna make a meta post on the four hounds ( recruitment / bonds / impact ) but that will never happen i fear#also the readmore is only on these posts bc they get kind of long :pray:
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"Aha! I knew I recognized that breastplate! Kent, my boon companion, have you got water in your--"
Sain stops, once he rounds the wall separating the two. A ghastly look flares up in his eyes.
"--You're not Kent."
Where he had expected to see a candlelit orange he finds instead a hue of gold. Not a bad hair color, per se, but just not the one he was looking for. Looks like his crimson cavalier is in another tear.
"Ah, my apologies then, fine sir! You bear striking similarity to my lifelong partner." A half-laugh seeks to soften the awkward blow of mixing poor Forde up. To rectify, The Lance extends his hand.
"I'm Sain, the one and only. It's nice meeting you... For the first time!"
Forde shakes his hand. "I'm Forde, of the golden deer house." He's also pretty sure they've met before, though he met so many similar feeling people here, Forde could be mistaking him for someone else. On the topic of being mistaken...
"That's Kent, the orange haired knight?" Of all the people to be compared to, he could do worse. Even if the comparison was just about their dress senses. "I didn't realise he had a partner."
He'd never heard 'boon companion' used as a pet name before. It was cute.
"I look forward to working with you, Sain." If he was anything like Kent, he'd be someone Forde could rely on.
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"Er. Ah..."
"Excuse me!"
A strange sort of shuffling can be heard behind Azama's head. Should he turn to look for its source, he'd find Sain in a state of distress. He's trying every method under the sun to look past him, but whether he ducks left, hops right, or tries to push his way past, the monk's movements perfectly block the knight's line of sight.
It has Sain stumped. Surely this can't all be on purpose, right?
"If it's no trouble, sir," he continues, delivering a gentle tap to the Hoshidan's shoulder, "Could you... Perhaps move out of the way? That mess of hair atop your head is stopping me from looking at all our ball beauties!"
(Well of course it's on purpose.)
For a moment, it almost seems as though the monk might entertain Sain's request. But. Hm. Well. No. Azama does not think he shall, not yet.
At the tap to his shoulder, he glances back, brows lifted.
And then brows dip, furrow in consternation as Sain continues. Oh dear. This won't do. This won't do at all.
"But it is a trouble, sir," the monk replies with a hum. "You see, I am perfectly content in my spot right here, and there is plenty room enough for you to harass the 'ball beauties' in places that are not right here."
The monk's smile is a bit tighter than the usual variety he might afford his opponents. Being insulted does that to a person, sometimes.
"And as for my beautiful mane, why, I never!"
The audacity of this man!
"Better this 'mess atop my head' than the clump of moss atop yours! Hmph!"
And with a swish and a splash of finality, Azama's champagne has somehow wound up dumped upside down over Sain's hair.
"Oops." Ah, there's the characteristic smile, blithe, unassuming. "That silly Air elemental, tsk, tsk~"
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originally from here @enarmor
"--llo?"
"Hello?"
"Hello?"
"Ah, so you are with us! Sorry, it's just that you were staring at the fire so long I began to grow concerned. We wouldn't want you tipping in, now would we?"
"Have you got something on your mind? I'll take a turn listening if you'd like to speak! Oh, and I'm Sain--one of your proud knights. I guess you could say it's my job to protect you."
Absorbed in thought, she does not notice the man’s approach, nor his addressing her. The light reflects back in her pale eyes as a harsh glow with hands that seek to destroy and incinerate. Though it swelters with the heat of the sun, she does not feel its warmth on her skin. The heat she feels must be from her nerves again, eating at her from the inside out.
Tipping in, he says in jest, yet does not know the weight of it pulling at her chest or the way her muscles tense beneath her clothes.
“Oh, my apologies,” she dips her head, perhaps in shame. “You are very sweet… Sir Sain, was it? I assure you, it is nothing to concern yourself over, but I thank you regardless.”
Rinea offers him a small smile, to reaffirm her words, make him believe them more than she does. She wonders now, if there is something in tonight’s air that gives the men the courage to be… shameless for a lack of better word, or if her vision has always been clouded by Berkut that she failed to notice how the rest truly are.
She imagines that he may make some other maiden swoon. That is, if he does not already, he has a sort of rugged handsomeness and albeit over the top chivalrous nature that someone is bound to fall for his charms, just not her.
#toabaldrsbounty#enarmor#(( to answer this seriously... ))#(( sain i adore you ))#(( i am going to leave the meme there tho bc i think its funny ))
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Doorways: Decorating each doorway is a sprig of fresh mistletoe. Rumor has it that it's a Chalphy tradition for two people to share a kiss if they are caught under it together. You wouldn't deny the tradition of your hosts, would you?
"Oh, what sweet secrets fate holds! Am I dead? I seem to be standing in the presence of an angel--n-no, a goddess! A goddess of fiery red and fiery love!"
"Surely you know what this sprig means, yes? We are to join in our shared affection for one another, and kiss, and be wed! Won't you bless this loyal knight with your lips?"
Minding her own business even during a party wasn’t new to Minerva, but the sudden presence of a young knight standing in her way, was quite unrequited and a bit annoying too. She stared at him for several moments, till he suddenly spoke, blabbering something about kissing and mistletoe; but that wasn’t the part that caught the red-haired woman off guard, no.
“A goddess..?!” she repeated, quite impressed by the young man words, then refreshing her mind as she has already seen him in the Training Hall sometimes, training to be a very skilled fighter and knight, probably. But, the cute boy proceeded on his speech, unbothered by the fiery stare the Macedon princess was giving him in total return.
“A kiss, huh?” she acted cool and calm, but in the inside she was kind of dying, since she wasn’t the type of person who could actually manage well these kind of situations. Instead, she bulked up a wall of aloofness, making the most of her threatening attitude and calmly replied to him, eagerly trying to see if he was truly honest with his purposes; as a matter of facts, she wasn’t the type of person who give up on those kind of situations, she felt the urge to be respectful to a tradition that wasn’t of her homeland and it certainly was her duty to pay respect to a tradition that belonged to the host of the party.
“I dare you to try me, then” she was a bit reluctant, but she played along, maliciously smiling at the boy, curving her lips and resting her stare over his.
#toabaldrsbounty#enarmor#//i'm so sorry oro she's not that sassy I promise#she's just WAIT WHAT IS A KISS#WHY ME#BUT WHY NOT
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"Well, how about it, Mark?" Sain, in spite of everything everyone has endured, remains optimistic. Upon approaching his old comrade in their waterlogged mess of a camp, he greets with a grin & wave. "It doesn't look like we're at peace anymore... Ready to saddle up with your favorite knight, just like old times?"
A bit of banter, he believes, is good for morale. It's preferred to the negativity radiating off some of the other campaign members.
So too is his lance, which he decides to pull from his back holster in a flourish. With it in his hand he says his silent vow: that he'd be there to protect Mark from harm.
She wants to cry when Sain approaches her. Maybe she is, and she’s just too damp to recognize it, but he’s here, and the water is gone, and he holds his lance out to her as ever.
“Hello, Sain,” the tactician manages, barely holding her voice steady. She attempts a smile, but it barely makes it halfway up her lips.
How many times will we have to run? How many times will I have to run...?
She knows he hears her voice shaking. She knows he sees the tears in her eyes. She wipes at her face with a soaking wet sleeve, glances over at her Lance. Her knight. Her friend.
He’d asked her to rely on him for more than battle. Maybe she could try that.
“...Sain, could I have a hug from you?”
#ough#winds across the plains (ic)#together we ride! (ask)#toaapollyonouranos2024#aopi2024#wailing and sobbing#explodes you!#cavalier (sain)#enarmor#feel free to reply btw we can make this a paralogue#sainmark
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Decorations - Tinsel, garlands of popcorn-and-cranberries, and wreaths and cornucopias galore - what’s a party without decorations? Help the hosts with some last minute sprucing up, or make a decoration of your own to liven up your dorm.
"Lady Ethlyn! What do you think? I've spruced up my lance with some of your festive decorations!--"
"--Before you fret, the tinsel and ornaments weren't lifted anywhere they were needed--"
"--But anyways, I thought I'd come to you for help in naming my role for tonight. I was thinking Holiday Knight, though I believe some twist on the word 'cavalier' could also suit me!"
"Hmm~" Ethlyn makes a show of tapping her chin in thought though she is unable to hide the grin she sports. "It's missing something, don't you think?"
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the sprig of mistletoe she surprised Quan with earlier in the evening. There isn't a reason for her to hold onto it anymore and she isn't sure why she kept carrying it around. Using one of the brightly colored ribbons already adorning Sain's lance, she affixes the berries right in the center. "There. Now it suits you perfectly, don't you think?"
Ethlyn laughs and gives him a playful pat on the back. "Now get out there and have some fun, Holiday Knight. But if you get yourself into too much trouble I'm denying all of my involvement!"
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Polishing his lance takes to the sidelines when Deirdre passes him by. Sain, the newly dubbed Knight of Seiros, drops his rag into his pocket and approaches without delay. Such a gorgeous glare cannot go unappreciated.
"Ohhh, I must have met my end!" he shouts, stepping closer and closer as he casts his voice her way, "For an angel walks before me! She steps with all the grace of petaled feet, each gentle sway of her immaculate form pulling my heartstrings close!"
Too close, at that. Close enough to now swerve in front of her and tilt her chin with a curled finger. "Ahhh... How radiant, how sublime! It is beauties like you that make my job so worthwhile."
"I am Sain, your loyal knight and defender from harm. Might I be fortunate enough to receive your name? Or better yet, your company?"
Deirdre's cheeks flush pink as she is approached by a man she does not recognize. He sings such sweet words and she knows they must be genuine for his clothes mark him as a knight. It is part of his knightly duty. That is what her stories and fairy tales tell and that is what Lord Sigurd, the very picture of chivalry and grace, has shown her!
She is slightly taken aback when he reaches for her chin. The gesture is more intimate than she would have expected but he assured her he is her loyal defender and so she does not think much of it.
"My name is Deirdre and truly the pleasure is mine, Sir Sain, to have such a gallant knight pledge himself to me. I would be glad to accompany you!" And so she links her arm with his as is right and proper for a lady being escorted.
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Sharing the Kitchen - Ready to show off your own culinary prowess with a dish from your homeland? Or lend a helping hand while someone else makes theirs? Or are you nosy beyond belief and looking for scraps before the main event?
"Ah, my dear, you look ravishing tonight! Like a golden lotus blooming on a soft spring's day! Here, why not try some of what I brought? These oysters are just the thing for setting two budding hearts ablaze."
"If you'd like, I could even split the shell for you!"
she tries to tamp down on the exasperation that threatens to form across her perfectly-controlled expression. she does not know this man, but she supposes she knows his type.
she takes one of the oysters ( t'would be rude to refuse something offered ) and picks up one of the knives in the kitchen, shucking it with relative ease. princess she may be, but her hands are far from useless.
"there's no need to offer aid. see? i've got it. ah, what a surprising treat for such an occasion. one wonders about the gentleman's tastes..."
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"Sweetest Serra! Sweetest Serra!"
Sain has come running. He knows this girl: what she does, how she acts. He knows her taste in fashion is second to none, and that the mastermind deep inside can divine even the faintest glows of love.
"How fortunate... I am... To have... Found you!" Poor knight is out of breath, having leapt at the opportunity to speak with Serra again. There's something she knows that he wants, and this time, he won't be leaving without it:
"This academy... Its fair ladies... Which of them do you think has eyes for me?"
“S... Sain?!”
Near collapsed at her feet is a knight she knows well — a dear friend, really, but she’d be hard-pressed to say it aloud, so readily. He may be dear, but he’s lots of other things, too. He rushes head-long into battle, with hardly a thought towards the healer trailing him — he’s thoughtless, and sometimes brash — and even worse of all, he treats ladies all the same. He flirts with each of them alike with tenacity, not seeming to worry at all if he’s got one lady or another attached to him. It’s like he wants hundreds of partners, and not just one!
So it really shouldn’t be a surprise what he says, when he gasps for breath and stops by her side.
It shouldn’t be, at all.
“That’s... all you have to say to me?!” Her voice is high-pitched, absolutely incredulous. “You haven’t seen me in— in nearly a year, and that’s— that’s all you have to say to me?!”
Oh, he’s infuriated her. Her cheeks are flush with frustration, and she’s absolutely glowering.
“I won’t tell you! In fact, I’ll never tell you!”
He so doesn’t deserve it.
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