Lysandra
Every face wears a mask
“Then hope has done its work,” she murmured, blue eyes lingering on him as though she could see the pull of it even now, “It’s brought you through another year.” For a heartbeat longer she studied the lines of his lanterns, then lowered the porcelain smile back into place. The firelight slipped away from her features, leaving him with the mask once more, as if the glimpse of her face had only been a kindness lent for a moment.
There was no mockery in her tone, only warmth—her words a comfort offered lightly, like a blanket set across someone’s shoulders without asking leave.
“I did. I go every year,” she answered after a moment, voice still low. “I play my music for the living, but I carry the dead with me all the same. Nights like this…” Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug beneath the velvet folds of her cloak. “They remind me how close those worlds still are.”
Blue eyes caught his, clear behind the mask’s painted smile. “And perhaps how precious it is that we can still speak of them.”
There was no mockery in her tone, only warmth—her words a comfort offered lightly, like a blanket set across someone’s shoulders without asking leave.
“I did. I go every year,” she answered after a moment, voice still low. “I play my music for the living, but I carry the dead with me all the same. Nights like this…” Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug beneath the velvet folds of her cloak. “They remind me how close those worlds still are.”
Blue eyes caught his, clear behind the mask’s painted smile. “And perhaps how precious it is that we can still speak of them.”
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