She nods as she notices they are nearly at the end of their little journey. Willoughby recalls in that instant her bard master, how he had been so willing to protect her from the bad that he denied her anything remotely cruel. In itself, that was cruel. She had not shed many tears and felt pain in her heart. It was like denying part of herself, to herself and the world. Denying them the means to know who she truly was. Did she even know?
“You have a point” she smiles slowly, much more calm than her hyperactive ones usual to her “no one wishes to be hurt, to see hurt... it happens at it's own pace. Like falling in love or meeting some good, kind people. Or even listening to a lovely song.” Willoughby still looked through rose-tinted glasses at the world of Novus. But she knew the people here had suffered.
If only she could help them. Ease their burdens...
“W-Well” her cheeks pink again “I leave it to the audience to judge if I am 'good'...” she chuckles with a shake of her head “I like to think I am decent, and that my songs bring joy to the world. Even for a fleeting moment. As a vagabond, I travel to many courts. I roam their lands and ply my trade there. But I am especially fond of the Night Market.”
The cobblestone streets and the bustle of activity... Most would assume the Night Court was secretive, dull and 'edgy'. But she saw such life in their world. “Solterra was my next stop, so here I am.” she adds to Galileo. Visiting the court here was oft overlooked. They liked soldiers and battle. She was a delicate little thing, liking the arts and charisma attached to trade. So she did not so much fit in here...
Galileo, however, proclaims he didn't need their acceptance. She was quiet, feeling that was rather sad too. He might be lonely, or denying himself the simple joy of others. “I would like others to accept me” she goes on, refusing to point the finger at her companion “perhaps one day I can be confident with myself. Until then, I would like to learn. New things. Old things. Anything.”
Yes, she would love to learn. Maybe not how to fight but to... be more than what she felt she could be. “Do I?” Willoughby halts with him, a few paces ahead and looking back at him “I hope good memories, then?”
“speech”
