Mesnyi
The clock too oft deceives,
Says what it cannot prove;
Says what it cannot prove;
S
he thought it was almost endearing, the way he bowed so deeply, as if she were a part of some royal procession. People - boys - were, however, less endearing when they were trying to hit on you. She might have liked him more had he not seemed so performative. His goofiness saved him a little. ”Lovely to meet you, Mateo.”
Mesnyi tilted her head as he stretched his wings. Wings were fascinating, and beautiful, she thought, so bird-like and yet so enormously fantastical. She would never have wings, but it was nice to dream.
A published author.
A son of the Benevolent.
And - oh? Calling her on a lie. Was it a bluff?
To doubt his published status was both insulting and demeaning; he seemed quite young to her and altogether too silly, but then, she had spent her whole life around creatives and hardly any of them looked as talented as they were. (Some did, certainly, but they were usually also arrogant and never as pretty as she.)
The Benevolent were not widely known and she therefore thought it was a truth. She would have some scornful words to deal him if it were false.
She could only think that either he’d been able to tell her lie already or that he had seen her about and knew her name. Better yet, if he’d run with the Benevolent he might even recognize her as one of his kind. She wasn’t sure. Now that the possibility of him being a Benevolent was on the table, Mesnyi didn’t really want to risk alienating one of her own, when they were both so very, very far from home. Benevolent weren't likely to be published, if they ran with their kind, but if he was only the child of one...well, he might bow to the permanent word.
It was just a game, anyway. There was no need to pile on so many layers to a simple answer. ”Hmm,” she began, ”I think you are a Benevolent and a published author. I do not think you doubt my name. Does it not fit me?” She bore the softest smirk a hummingbird-woman could, awaited his response, and offered hers:
”I am a Benevolent. I have been in love thirty-three times. And Jasmine is not my name,” She smiled in a self-satisfied sort of way, lids low, like she had a secret. She liked this game, so long as it stayed on the surface.
@Mateo | Lines on Nonsense | "speaks" | notes: ☽☼☾
"You see, women are like fires, like flames. Some women are like candles, bright and friendly. Some are like single sparks, or embers, like fireflies for chasing on summer nights. Some are like campfires, all light and heat for a night and willing to be left after. Some women are like hearthfires, not much to look at but underneath they are all warm red coal that burns a long, long while."
![[Image: 26y3cfu.png]](https://i.imgur.com/26y3cfu.png)
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