REXANNA
you don't get to die and be reborn the same.
you come back,
Rexanna nods when he mentions that Remi has a wedding – finding that type of conversation far easier than the one they previously had. Ah, but no rest for the wicked (wicked in the sense of quiet hidden conversations, concealed from the public) and she debates whether to ask him for it now or later. She thinks she has time (oh, but how wrong she is) and she puts the thought on the back of her mind. Her gaze drifts toward Deimos as she asks him to show her how to create, and her brows lift as she huddles a bit closer toward him.
His hands move together, and a gilt glow forms within them that already is something Rexanna can appreciate, and when he mentions he’s thinking of what he wants to create and plays it out, she follows suit. Placing her hands together, she aims for the same kind of magic, that same well of power that vibrates and resonates against her soul and the pit of her stomach. It’s an adventure, to say the least, and she waits for a time for something to happen. Nothing does, not now, and she sighs quietly as she inspects the item Deimos had created and handed to her. She admires the flames along the sides with a gentle smile that fades quickly.
“Ah, so like this?” She sets the item aside after inspecting it and tries again, placing her hands together and trying so very hard until right before she calls it quits, a reddish glow begins to grow beneath her hands. She doesn’t know what she’s creating, really, until she thinks of Deimos and his instruction, and her mind runs away with the possibilities. There, within her hands, a small snowflake is created, with sharp edges and balanced for throwing.
This item she inspects with awe before handing it to Deimos for approval. This is how they had always been, a mix of fire and ice. How fitting.
His hands move together, and a gilt glow forms within them that already is something Rexanna can appreciate, and when he mentions he’s thinking of what he wants to create and plays it out, she follows suit. Placing her hands together, she aims for the same kind of magic, that same well of power that vibrates and resonates against her soul and the pit of her stomach. It’s an adventure, to say the least, and she waits for a time for something to happen. Nothing does, not now, and she sighs quietly as she inspects the item Deimos had created and handed to her. She admires the flames along the sides with a gentle smile that fades quickly.
“Ah, so like this?” She sets the item aside after inspecting it and tries again, placing her hands together and trying so very hard until right before she calls it quits, a reddish glow begins to grow beneath her hands. She doesn’t know what she’s creating, really, until she thinks of Deimos and his instruction, and her mind runs away with the possibilities. There, within her hands, a small snowflake is created, with sharp edges and balanced for throwing.
This item she inspects with awe before handing it to Deimos for approval. This is how they had always been, a mix of fire and ice. How fitting.
but you come back wrong
this is the price
you pay for
resurrection
