Kaisel
A R I S E
He had taken her response to Vox as the well-practiced pleasantries that were expected of them. He'd thought her nothing more than a masterful actress, one well-versed in poise and formality—the one type of battle he knew he'd never win. This belief persisted—until she frowned at his response. Was she gently trying to remind him to be better? That squeeze against his hands—was it caution, a warning of the dangerous line he walked? The more she said though, the more he strayed from his faith. Please Noe, don't leave him godless.
He was quiet for a moment, which was how you knew he was serious. His thoughts spun over each other, sliding like fish swimming upstream. Kaisel’s fingers tapped unwittingly on the paper where his poem lay. He went still. He chanced a glance at the poem, loath to break eye contact with Noe—but was that… warmth? From the paper?
Scales flashed as one fish leapt free of the water.
A gentle, false smile cracked through the concern on Kaisel’s face. "You're right Noe," Kaisel said with a hollow chuckle. The fingers that had paused over his poem clenched tightly, the paper wrinkling against his nails. "We should not villify differences, should we? After all, who knows who’s listening? They might be impressionable and get the wrong idea; we all have differences." He winked at her. He knew she was keeping up the ruse—because Vox was still here, wasn’t he? That poem—it was a gateway. And he needed to destroy it.
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
