☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
if this is redemption // why do I bother at all // there's nothing to mention // and nothing has changed // still I'd rather be working at something than praying for the rain
if this is redemption // why do I bother at all // there's nothing to mention // and nothing has changed // still I'd rather be working at something than praying for the rain
He’s joking, or so he claims, about curses, and he says that it isn’t his place to discuss the specifics besides. “Of course,” She says, easily. “I would not expect you to do so.” His life – and his interactions with those that share it – are hardly her business or her concern, in spite of her vested interest in knowing the other Regimes well enough to use her knowledge to her advantage. Besides, she hasn’t the heart to help him; she knows little of emotional pain, and even less of the love or inadequacy that she is woefully unaware plague him.
It is not his wounds that cause her to draw back; gods know that she’s seen enough of those without flinching. Perhaps it is just the implication that he would ever wish for the cold that she possesses like an iron shield that frustrates her – he is delicate, and he hasn’t realized that is a gift. She doesn’t miss the way that his gaze lingers momentarily on the collar around her throat, because the look that he gives it is far from unusual. (Had she known what thoughts ran through his mind, she might have laughed a bitter laugh or smiled a crooked smile. Foreigners, she might have thought, in that tired, bemused way, always so quick to step into our land and assume that it will yield to them – always so quick to assume that they can save us, or that we wish for their salvation.) Her composure, her quiet voice, her steel-clad gaze, everything that she is – in the right light, it will always look like a tragedy.
Her ears twitch, very slightly, at his comment. It’s complimentary, but…but he’s wrong. They never beat back the Davke. The Davke simply took from them what they willed and disappeared. (Had they learned nothing from their own “extermination,” she wondered? Nothing done well is ever done by half-measures.) And she is no emblem of strength; she is uncertain and young and oh-so passive, with none of the vengeful bite that her nation wears so well. However, some part of her is also vaguely aware that he is projecting, and so she stays quiet until he decides to take his leave.
She has the distinct impression that she insulted him – not unusual. “Take care, Asterion. I hope that this festival treats you better than those you have encountered in the past,” Seraphina says, rather than anything else; she leaves him to his own conclusions.
Sometimes, she wonders why Maxence ever thought she was suited for diplomacy.
She watches him disappear into the crowd, then takes her own leave; a sleek silver shade passing wordlessly through the throng of bodies.
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tags | @Asterion
notes | aaaand, sera out. fun times <3
It is not his wounds that cause her to draw back; gods know that she’s seen enough of those without flinching. Perhaps it is just the implication that he would ever wish for the cold that she possesses like an iron shield that frustrates her – he is delicate, and he hasn’t realized that is a gift. She doesn’t miss the way that his gaze lingers momentarily on the collar around her throat, because the look that he gives it is far from unusual. (Had she known what thoughts ran through his mind, she might have laughed a bitter laugh or smiled a crooked smile. Foreigners, she might have thought, in that tired, bemused way, always so quick to step into our land and assume that it will yield to them – always so quick to assume that they can save us, or that we wish for their salvation.) Her composure, her quiet voice, her steel-clad gaze, everything that she is – in the right light, it will always look like a tragedy.
Her ears twitch, very slightly, at his comment. It’s complimentary, but…but he’s wrong. They never beat back the Davke. The Davke simply took from them what they willed and disappeared. (Had they learned nothing from their own “extermination,” she wondered? Nothing done well is ever done by half-measures.) And she is no emblem of strength; she is uncertain and young and oh-so passive, with none of the vengeful bite that her nation wears so well. However, some part of her is also vaguely aware that he is projecting, and so she stays quiet until he decides to take his leave.
She has the distinct impression that she insulted him – not unusual. “Take care, Asterion. I hope that this festival treats you better than those you have encountered in the past,” Seraphina says, rather than anything else; she leaves him to his own conclusions.
Sometimes, she wonders why Maxence ever thought she was suited for diplomacy.
She watches him disappear into the crowd, then takes her own leave; a sleek silver shade passing wordlessly through the throng of bodies.
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tags | @Asterion
notes | aaaand, sera out. fun times <3
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
