[ A sharp breath. Maybe it’s agreement; maybe it isn’t.
Somewhere, Maker knows where, Gervais Vauquelin is dreaming of a ring on her finger. Unflappably calm. Unshakeably even. And so little of it by choice. Some day, Maker knows when, he may ask her. And those people, they’ll have a choice then: Those people so far away.
Her grip tightens on the axe, lets it drop. ]
I am, [ Where were those words? Teren is somewhat distracting. ] I mean to say,
[ She isn’t sure what she meant to say at all. She tips her head back towards Teren’s hand, and tries not to feel as though this, too, is betrayal. ]
no subject
Somewhere, Maker knows where, Gervais Vauquelin is dreaming of a ring on her finger. Unflappably calm. Unshakeably even. And so little of it by choice. Some day, Maker knows when, he may ask her. And those people, they’ll have a choice then: Those people so far away.
Her grip tightens on the axe, lets it drop. ]
I am, [ Where were those words? Teren is somewhat distracting. ] I mean to say,
[ She isn’t sure what she meant to say at all. She tips her head back towards Teren’s hand, and tries not to feel as though this, too, is betrayal. ]
What have we got?
[ last time was weird bruh ]