I'm only honest when it rains,
An open book with a torn out page,
And my ink's run out.
I want to love you but I don't know how.
An open book with a torn out page,
And my ink's run out.
I want to love you but I don't know how.
Honestly, Israfel didn’t give a shit about Vespera. She had witnessed the goddess’ disregard first hand, watching them flounder and flail in a time of dangerous madness… But as Theodosia found her along her defeated traipse into the capital, with her pelt of alabaster and lavender eyes of somber understanding, Israfel sent up a silent prayer in gratitude that it was the Warden and not someone else, someone who wouldnt understand.
’Vespera… Thanks for not being a complete bitch.’
“I think it is. You’re a fucking lifesaver, Theo.”
The Regent offered no complaint as Theodosia fell into step with her and gently steered her in the right direction of the closest seedy, run down, back alley watering hole. They moved in tandem, their similar heights, builds, and bodies moving as one, shoulders bumping and wings brushing with simple touches that did wonders to ground Israfel’s wayward thoughts.
Surely he had not left of his own volition. She refused to believe it.
Arriving at the unassuming wooden door that would lead into the pub, Israfel took the initiative needed and shouldered it open. The threshold would only accommodate one horse at a time and so she sashayed through, allowing a flick of her tail in Theodosia’s direction in a playful sort of manner. Catching the door with a hind hoof, the Regent held it open for her Warden to pass through.
’Her’ Warden. Hmm. If that line of thinking wasn’t a slippery slope to Fuck-Up Ville, Israfel didn’t know what was.
Only when Theodosia had passed through the threshold and entered the tavern did she allow the door to swing closed. Already there were a number of patrons nestled in the low-lit interior, the general din and hubbub of voices dying down as curious eyes swung around to face whoever had entered. Perhaps there would be rumors on the morrow why the Regent and Warden of Terrastella had entered a back-alley pub together, but they could get fucked. Israfel didn’t care for them, nor did she care for rumors. Not right now, at least. Somewhere in the back, a bard of a horse was strumming a few notes on a lute, and soon enough the general voices of conversing patrons picked up once more as everyone returned to their own business.
“C’mon.” Together, Israfel now guided Theodosia up to the bar, where the proprietor arched a brow at the two of them as the Regent leaned against the bar of pock-marked, stained wood. “Whiskey, please. And make it a double.” And when the glass was set in front of her, Israfel wasted no time in downing it in one go, relishing the way that it burned her tongue and throat, warming her from the inside out.
Fucking hell.
With their drinks served, a second quickly placed in front of the Regent, Israfel turned her piercing crimson stare into the alabaster face of the Warden, unable to catch Theo’s knowing, far too keen lavender eyes. Her brows narrowed, lips curling downwards in a contemplative frown before she spoke. “... How fares things here? Sorry I was gone for so long. I didn’t anticipate it taking that fucking long.”
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