Lost inside / Adorable illusion and I cannot hide
She hears him, scrambling hoofs on stone, loud, clacking, scraping - but it takes the rest of her body to catch up with her senses. She cannot look away from Gregory, or what was Gregory, at least -
“Are-”
She stares at the sculpture.
“Are you alright, Miss?”
Mesnyi drags her eyes away, very slowly, as though it pained her (it does, but it pains her more to look at - through - Gregory), and fixes them on Septimus. She does not say anything at first, mouth still open as if an unheard scream could still be wrested from her throat. She looks back to Gregory, and finally, closes her mouth, and remembers to breathe.
She says - perhaps to Gregory - “No.”
And then she looks at Septimus again and says: “I fucking hate this place.” Mesnyi does not use foul language, on the grounds that she is too pretty for it. She looks at Gregory again. “We should all hope to be art when we die. I am going to be a fucking ugly skeleton. Gregory gets to be a sculpture on a magic fucking island. That changes!” She huffs. “There is nothing more beautiful than art that dies.”
Mesnyi steps away from Gregory and his pile of magic-fucking-death-powder to stand near Septimus. She nods toward the cave. “You seem like a conscientious individual. Come, honor his sacrifice with me. Tonight we may drink and recount our trauma on the way home, riches in hand.”
« r » | @
"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)
plotter
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