when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer
Charlie gives zero sign of catching the sarcasm or the existential dread drifting like fog through his commentary on passion and labour; if anything, she perks up like he’s praising the sunshine itself. Her smile widens into something incandescent, her head tilting with delighted interest as though every word he says is a glitter-covered compliment designed specifically to make her glow brighter.
"Oh, I love it," she assures him with breathless enthusiasm, nodding so vigorously her curls bounce in happy waves. "I loved it hundreds and hundreds of years ago, and I love it just as much now!" There is not a shred of hesitation. No dimming. Nothing but wholehearted joy, like she’s announcing her favourite flavour of candy and also the secret to eternal fulfilment.
When he compliments her tricks, her eyebrows rise in a smooth, shimmering arc, blue eyes bright enough to steal the attention from the entire corridor. She leans into him as casually as slipping into warm bathwater, her voice a silken lilt. "You could be full of tricks too, you know," she purrs, as if handing him a secret forbidden privilege. "If you ever wanted to become an Ancient."
Then, with the flourish of someone revealing the finale of a magic act, she adds, "just think! You could do this!" She vanishes into a dart! of pink-gold light, reappearing fifteen feet down the hallway with a giddy, sparkling laugh. "Or this!" Fire rages up her limbs and around her body in a ribboning dance, flames swirling and leaving molten reflections in her eyes, the heat sending a wave of warmth down the stone hall. "Or this!"
Her form melts and reforms, becoming a molten tiger; huge, gorgeous, striped with rivulets of molten gold that sizzle and drip like living metal. Hot light ripples across the pillars and walls, each movement a slow, sensual roll of magma muscle. Then, with a shimmer of heat-haze, she’s Charlie again, curls bouncing, dress clinging, blood shimmering across white silk like gemstone flecks.
She beams up at him and adds sweetly, "Or be a dragon, of course," as if that’s simply the most obvious membership perk. She makes no attempt to demonstrate; one glance at the gothic archways tells anyone with eyes that the Temple absolutely cannot handle that spectacle.
Shoulders lifting in an airy shrug, she slips back into his side, her arm hooking around his waist again as if they were mid-stroll this whole time. "Blood is totally fine!" she chirps, tail flicking in a pleased little arc behind her. "There are lots of other things Dygra likes too, but blood is the easiest and most common." Her tone is casual, breezy, cheerful, as if recommending the simplest topping for a sundae.
"Oh, I love it," she assures him with breathless enthusiasm, nodding so vigorously her curls bounce in happy waves. "I loved it hundreds and hundreds of years ago, and I love it just as much now!" There is not a shred of hesitation. No dimming. Nothing but wholehearted joy, like she’s announcing her favourite flavour of candy and also the secret to eternal fulfilment.
When he compliments her tricks, her eyebrows rise in a smooth, shimmering arc, blue eyes bright enough to steal the attention from the entire corridor. She leans into him as casually as slipping into warm bathwater, her voice a silken lilt. "You could be full of tricks too, you know," she purrs, as if handing him a secret forbidden privilege. "If you ever wanted to become an Ancient."
Then, with the flourish of someone revealing the finale of a magic act, she adds, "just think! You could do this!" She vanishes into a dart! of pink-gold light, reappearing fifteen feet down the hallway with a giddy, sparkling laugh. "Or this!" Fire rages up her limbs and around her body in a ribboning dance, flames swirling and leaving molten reflections in her eyes, the heat sending a wave of warmth down the stone hall. "Or this!"
Her form melts and reforms, becoming a molten tiger; huge, gorgeous, striped with rivulets of molten gold that sizzle and drip like living metal. Hot light ripples across the pillars and walls, each movement a slow, sensual roll of magma muscle. Then, with a shimmer of heat-haze, she’s Charlie again, curls bouncing, dress clinging, blood shimmering across white silk like gemstone flecks.
She beams up at him and adds sweetly, "Or be a dragon, of course," as if that’s simply the most obvious membership perk. She makes no attempt to demonstrate; one glance at the gothic archways tells anyone with eyes that the Temple absolutely cannot handle that spectacle.
Shoulders lifting in an airy shrug, she slips back into his side, her arm hooking around his waist again as if they were mid-stroll this whole time. "Blood is totally fine!" she chirps, tail flicking in a pleased little arc behind her. "There are lots of other things Dygra likes too, but blood is the easiest and most common." Her tone is casual, breezy, cheerful, as if recommending the simplest topping for a sundae.
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
