'till your fingers decompose
Rather than exploding into a violet rage, instead Safrin looks at Ronin with tears stinging in her eyes, her chin willfully turned up. "And how do you think that makes me feel?" She whispers, jaw set against the tremble on her lips. Turning away, Safrin looks out across the ocean, where, shining like an oil spill alight with fire, is Starfall.
"Standards." She scoffs, glancing at Ronin over her shoulder. "Is that how you speak to Remi in times of difficulty? That you have fallen short of some standard?" She whispers, voice tight. A disobedient tear streaks down her cheek, and though she is quick to wipe it away, the damage has been done. A realization has come to her, one she has been loathe to keep away, only now, as with Starfall, she has failed.
"There is nothing to make up. A teacup when broken can only be repaired so many times before one must simply use another." For all of her vanity and resplendence, it is Safrin who is the broken thing in this analogy, not Ronin. "For so long I have craved the man you were. Unfairly, I see that now."
Glancing at his hand, Safrin turns and extends her own. As her fingers slide against his, it's in a handshake. There is no intimacy in her touch, no familiarity. Instead, her skin pulses with starlight as soothing strength flows from her to him; a gesture of appreciation that she would show to any of her followers. "Go with strength, Ronin."
"Standards." She scoffs, glancing at Ronin over her shoulder. "Is that how you speak to Remi in times of difficulty? That you have fallen short of some standard?" She whispers, voice tight. A disobedient tear streaks down her cheek, and though she is quick to wipe it away, the damage has been done. A realization has come to her, one she has been loathe to keep away, only now, as with Starfall, she has failed.
"There is nothing to make up. A teacup when broken can only be repaired so many times before one must simply use another." For all of her vanity and resplendence, it is Safrin who is the broken thing in this analogy, not Ronin. "For so long I have craved the man you were. Unfairly, I see that now."
Glancing at his hand, Safrin turns and extends her own. As her fingers slide against his, it's in a handshake. There is no intimacy in her touch, no familiarity. Instead, her skin pulses with starlight as soothing strength flows from her to him; a gesture of appreciation that she would show to any of her followers. "Go with strength, Ronin."
keep my hand in yours.
