Aithne
The ties were black, the lies were white
The man chuckles. His voice is accented and rich, somehow complimenting his stylish attire just perfectly. Aithne has to fight not to sigh with envy; she likes to think that she's as well-put together as the next person, but at this particular moment, she's never felt more frumpy. Her braids have started to come loose; her dark, form-fitting shirt is wrinkled; and there's a thin layer of grime that, while perhaps difficult to see, irks her with the way it feels. She has, after all, been in the Climb now for a few days. With nowhere to go - and therefore, nowhere to refresh herself - her appearance leaves something to be desired.
"I haven't," she admitted almost sheepishly, tossing a bunch of braids over one shoulder. She thinks for a moment, then adds, "But I ran into the most delightful woman the other day who told me about the - the Dusklight, I think she called it? She said it was wonderful."
"I haven't," she admitted almost sheepishly, tossing a bunch of braids over one shoulder. She thinks for a moment, then adds, "But I ran into the most delightful woman the other day who told me about the - the Dusklight, I think she called it? She said it was wonderful."
In shades of gray in candlelight
