[P] every awful second

[Marisol]

THE ARCHIATER.

One who wields a blade from his tail..

At that, something like amusement flares in Marisol’s dark eyes, or recognition, at the very least - Raymond, she says, acknowledging that vague description with the name and a light dip of her head. Who else would it be? Blade from his tail isn’t the most inauspicious detail to add, but it’s quite the defining figure, even on a man as strange (maybe even suspicious) as Raymond. Trust me - if I could find a way to remove the blade, I would.

What other way is there for Marisol to admit, even slightly, she’s as distrustful of most of her court as Tieran is? Outside of the Halcyon ranks, truly loyal citizens are hard to find, and friends even harder. No doubt she’s more inclined to trust her fellow Terrastellans more than she would the average Day Court asshole, but still the soldier in her won’t let her guard down, looks for the bad in everything, the omnipresent danger, the threat lurking dark and sharp-toothed around every corner.

She thinks Teiran might be built the same way.

I did not, Mari agrees. Her dark lashes flutter slightly against the watery-pink dawn light. I should be relieved, but - I just feel  like I haven’t found it yet. Her voice dips low at the end of that sentence, putting emphasis on the possibility that still looms around them - yet. They still are standing on some kind of precipice. No danger, yet. No horrors, yet. But it could very well still happen.

Perhaps it has. Only quietly. In the way Mari's heart stirs in her chest, or her nerves pick up a bright pace under her skin.

@Tieran