As Phoebe dried each piece of flatware and pans and plates she put them away in their respective cabinets. It was an achingly familiar routine, one that made her stomach clench with discomfort. But this was part of the healing process she supposed; discomfort until the routines became platonic instead of memories of intimacy.
"That sounds like a challenge." she said with a smirk as she stacked some dishes. "Perhaps I will send my questions one word at a time and you will be tasked with putting them together like a puzzle." she said with a mischievous grin. But then she laughed, ensuring he knew it was a joke and not an impending reality.
"In my experience, the gods care little for human politics." she said as they finished up the washing. "I am sure Safrin would be delighted to have one of her devotees leading a land again."
"That sounds like a challenge." she said with a smirk as she stacked some dishes. "Perhaps I will send my questions one word at a time and you will be tasked with putting them together like a puzzle." she said with a mischievous grin. But then she laughed, ensuring he knew it was a joke and not an impending reality.
"In my experience, the gods care little for human politics." she said as they finished up the washing. "I am sure Safrin would be delighted to have one of her devotees leading a land again."
the nightingale
laughter is the language of the soul
