![[Image: rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png]](https://orig15.deviantart.net/7f0b/f/2017/234/b/6/rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png)
"I would not lie to you, Rhoswen."
The redhead considered this, mulling Eik's baritone syllables over and over until they felt distorted and barren on her tongue. Could anyone be trusted implicitly? We all have reasons to lie, this, ironically, was an inherent truth. Her stomach is filled with lead, her heart overflowing with carbon - what does she believe in these days; the sun? the truth? raum?
They stand quietly, undulating and yet unyielding, still. The ocean air encases them in its indiscriminate absoluteness, holding them firm upon the sand. Two ghosts: one burning, one burnt. Rhoswen's scalding skin cools against Eik's placid presence, and she breathes easier - longer. She turns a tumultuous gaze to the man's open face, watching words tumble and melt from lips of soot; his laugh was unexpected, teeming into the salt. Her shoulders lower, eyelashes grazing against highset cheekbones carved from marble and rubies. Of course he didn't; he was a spectre, not a jury.
"Have you been well?"
The question attaches itself to the marrow in her bones - sinking, submerging, settling. For once, Rhos doesn't quite know how to answer. But she does anyway, a sudden tightness to her voice - "Does it matter?" Saying yes, or no, would change nothing - irritation runs red in her bleeding veins, perhaps not so much at her companion but at the melodrama she has been entertaining for too long. She stares at Eik, her creased brow relaxing, "Well enough to return, I suppose."
A pause, "Is it true? What they are saying about Maxence?"
@Eik this is trash, sorry b
The redhead considered this, mulling Eik's baritone syllables over and over until they felt distorted and barren on her tongue. Could anyone be trusted implicitly? We all have reasons to lie, this, ironically, was an inherent truth. Her stomach is filled with lead, her heart overflowing with carbon - what does she believe in these days; the sun? the truth? raum?
They stand quietly, undulating and yet unyielding, still. The ocean air encases them in its indiscriminate absoluteness, holding them firm upon the sand. Two ghosts: one burning, one burnt. Rhoswen's scalding skin cools against Eik's placid presence, and she breathes easier - longer. She turns a tumultuous gaze to the man's open face, watching words tumble and melt from lips of soot; his laugh was unexpected, teeming into the salt. Her shoulders lower, eyelashes grazing against highset cheekbones carved from marble and rubies. Of course he didn't; he was a spectre, not a jury.
"Have you been well?"
The question attaches itself to the marrow in her bones - sinking, submerging, settling. For once, Rhos doesn't quite know how to answer. But she does anyway, a sudden tightness to her voice - "Does it matter?" Saying yes, or no, would change nothing - irritation runs red in her bleeding veins, perhaps not so much at her companion but at the melodrama she has been entertaining for too long. She stares at Eik, her creased brow relaxing, "Well enough to return, I suppose."
A pause, "Is it true? What they are saying about Maxence?"
@
