every bait and switch was a work of art
Safrin does not look away as the tide of feeling moves through Sohalia, as uncertainty tangles with dawning understanding and something softer beneath it all begins, however quietly, to take root. If the goddess notices the tremor in her voice, the way her breath stutters and steadies again, she gives no sign of judgement; only that same patient attention, as though every flicker of thought has already brushed against her awareness and found no resistance there.
At the mention of it being unexpected, Safrin’s smile shifts—just slightly—into something more wry, more knowing, her shoulder lifting in a delicate, almost careless shrug that suggests the word itself holds very little weight in the grander shape of things.
When Sohalia offers her thanks, Safrin inclines her head in quiet acknowledgement, accepting the gratitude as though it is no more than its due, neither diminished nor inflated by the emotion behind it. "Of course not." The reassurance comes easily, without hesitation or embellishment, her gaze steady and warm as Sohalia speaks of leaving. There is no attempt to hold her there, no lingering demand for reverence or delay; if anything, the faint curve of her lips deepens, as though the next step Sohalia must take is one Safrin has already accounted for.
A flicker of something brighter touches her expression then—playful, fleeting—as she offers the Luminary a small, deliberate wink, and then she is gone. Not vanished in a burst or a flare, but unwoven, the light that formed her thinning and softening until it returns to the quiet glow of the shrine, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of starlight clinging to the parchment.
~FIN
At the mention of it being unexpected, Safrin’s smile shifts—just slightly—into something more wry, more knowing, her shoulder lifting in a delicate, almost careless shrug that suggests the word itself holds very little weight in the grander shape of things.
When Sohalia offers her thanks, Safrin inclines her head in quiet acknowledgement, accepting the gratitude as though it is no more than its due, neither diminished nor inflated by the emotion behind it. "Of course not." The reassurance comes easily, without hesitation or embellishment, her gaze steady and warm as Sohalia speaks of leaving. There is no attempt to hold her there, no lingering demand for reverence or delay; if anything, the faint curve of her lips deepens, as though the next step Sohalia must take is one Safrin has already accounted for.
A flicker of something brighter touches her expression then—playful, fleeting—as she offers the Luminary a small, deliberate wink, and then she is gone. Not vanished in a burst or a flare, but unwoven, the light that formed her thinning and softening until it returns to the quiet glow of the shrine, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of starlight clinging to the parchment.
~FIN
you're the one prize i'd cheat to win
