it's fine to fake it 'till you make it
Starlight touched the waves before her form did—ribbons of soft, silken light spilling across the sea, reaching fingers of luminescence toward the shrine before the goddess emerged. She rose with the tide, her bare feet brushing the black sand, her long hair billowing behind her like a comet’s tail. Draped in a gown that shimmered with the indigo hues of twilight, Safrin moved like a dream solidified into flesh.
Her gaze flickered first to the offerings: the scattering stars of Flora’s glass figurine, and the harmonious chime of Hadama’s star-laced hair sticks. Her lips curved with satisfaction, touched with fondness and pride. "You never disappoint," she murmured, reaching to trail her fingers through the dancing light of the figurine, then letting them drift toward the carved notes of the chimes.
Then her eyes found Hadama. A different warmth stole into her expression. Pride, yes—but something steadier too. "You did well," she said softly, her voice the hush of the tide on a quiet shore. "You stood where others might have fallen. You brought back not only hope, but proof that the void can be pushed back." With effortless grace, Safrin stepped close and lifted her hands to cradle his face. Her thumbs brushed the curve of his cheekbones, her touch tender but firm and pulsing with starlight. It poured from her hands and sank into his skin, the soft radiance spreading through every fracture and ache, chasing away bruises and phantom wounds. The pain in his ribs, the weariness in his bones—gone, replaced by the slow, humming resonance of divine grace. When she let go, the last of the shimmer clung to his skin like dew to stone.
Then she turned.
Her gaze settled on Flora, and for a breath it sharpened—just slightly. A flicker of restrained disappointment stirred in her eyes, not quite spoken but there all the same. Infection. A trick. A risk that did not need to be taken. But then her expression softened, and the smile that bloomed was laced with indulgence and approval both. "You always did like playing dangerous games," she said with a sigh, though her tone was far from scolding. "But I suppose I should expect no less from my little queen." Her fingers reached out, brushing lightly along Flora’s jaw, just enough to let a thread of warmth pass between them. "Well done."
Straightening, she glances at both Tidebreaker and Doubletake, a brow artfully raised. "And what are your plans now that you're both back and feeling like yourselves?"
Her gaze flickered first to the offerings: the scattering stars of Flora’s glass figurine, and the harmonious chime of Hadama’s star-laced hair sticks. Her lips curved with satisfaction, touched with fondness and pride. "You never disappoint," she murmured, reaching to trail her fingers through the dancing light of the figurine, then letting them drift toward the carved notes of the chimes.
Then her eyes found Hadama. A different warmth stole into her expression. Pride, yes—but something steadier too. "You did well," she said softly, her voice the hush of the tide on a quiet shore. "You stood where others might have fallen. You brought back not only hope, but proof that the void can be pushed back." With effortless grace, Safrin stepped close and lifted her hands to cradle his face. Her thumbs brushed the curve of his cheekbones, her touch tender but firm and pulsing with starlight. It poured from her hands and sank into his skin, the soft radiance spreading through every fracture and ache, chasing away bruises and phantom wounds. The pain in his ribs, the weariness in his bones—gone, replaced by the slow, humming resonance of divine grace. When she let go, the last of the shimmer clung to his skin like dew to stone.
Then she turned.
Her gaze settled on Flora, and for a breath it sharpened—just slightly. A flicker of restrained disappointment stirred in her eyes, not quite spoken but there all the same. Infection. A trick. A risk that did not need to be taken. But then her expression softened, and the smile that bloomed was laced with indulgence and approval both. "You always did like playing dangerous games," she said with a sigh, though her tone was far from scolding. "But I suppose I should expect no less from my little queen." Her fingers reached out, brushing lightly along Flora’s jaw, just enough to let a thread of warmth pass between them. "Well done."
Straightening, she glances at both Tidebreaker and Doubletake, a brow artfully raised. "And what are your plans now that you're both back and feeling like yourselves?"
'till you do. 'till it's true.
