REXANNA
i was born with a knife in one hand
“You were not awful.” She bears Deimos day and her sapphire gaze flickers up to his face, a hint of surprise lingering there at his confirmation. But when he jests to her, mentioning she had been distracted, she nods with a quiet laugh of agreement. “Gods, what a shit distraction that was.” She says with a light hint of suggestion toward whom she spoke of the most before chuckling again.
But familiar schemes begin to take hold as she questions him about the Spire, brings up her own suggestions, followed by shooting them in the feet. She listens while he explains what might be beneath and she leans forward a bit to catch all the information. “A portal to what, though?” She muses, uncertain where they might lead. Would it take them all home again? She shudders at the thought, recalling barren ivory walls of her castle, of the dead courtship at her feet. What a reign she had held.
She shakes it off as she recalls about Lucas, and Deimos pries for more information. Her brows furrow and she thinks on it a bit more before tilting her head to him. “It was different. Ascendeds.. We don’t breathe. But his skin was mottled and terrible looking, almost like whatever was in him was going bad or wrong?” She muses, reaching up to gesture to her hand. “We don’t have blood, either, not really.” She says, summoning a small knife and cutting a small line on her palm. It means little to her, she can’t feel it, but her eyes flicker up to him as a small amount of clear fluid seeps from the wound before it begins to heal immensely quickly.
“I wonder how our blood might respond to being exposed to the gasses down there.”
But familiar schemes begin to take hold as she questions him about the Spire, brings up her own suggestions, followed by shooting them in the feet. She listens while he explains what might be beneath and she leans forward a bit to catch all the information. “A portal to what, though?” She muses, uncertain where they might lead. Would it take them all home again? She shudders at the thought, recalling barren ivory walls of her castle, of the dead courtship at her feet. What a reign she had held.
She shakes it off as she recalls about Lucas, and Deimos pries for more information. Her brows furrow and she thinks on it a bit more before tilting her head to him. “It was different. Ascendeds.. We don’t breathe. But his skin was mottled and terrible looking, almost like whatever was in him was going bad or wrong?” She muses, reaching up to gesture to her hand. “We don’t have blood, either, not really.” She says, summoning a small knife and cutting a small line on her palm. It means little to her, she can’t feel it, but her eyes flicker up to him as a small amount of clear fluid seeps from the wound before it begins to heal immensely quickly.
“I wonder how our blood might respond to being exposed to the gasses down there.”
and a wound in the other
