REXANNA
i was born with a knife in one hand
The Penumbra rolls her shoulders in a light shrug at his comment with a quiet hum of laughter. “Probably.” She adds. Tembovu had been a bit more controlling than she was used to, but him in comparison to the Prince was like breathing easy. It’s only now that she has Bastien that she can truly compare the differences, and embrace the freeness of her spirit. And it was a welcome wake up call.
But she moves from her spot to sit across from him again for the story to be relayed, to learn more about who he was before she arrived. She didn’t think many got this opportunity and she was here for it, with eyes that sparkle with a small amount of greed and wonder. And when he says Mauja’s name, Rexanna grows nostalgic, a smile crossing her features. “Oh, Mauja.” She comments with a small smile at the memory of the freckled man, the closeness he had with Tembovu, and the hands he seemed to have everywhere.
But she draws quiet again to listen, a brow lifting. As he mentions their refuge had been the Steppe, a frown crosses the corners of her lips as she takes a sip from her drink. She recalls the chilled, howling winds, without the protection of the Basin to guide against the rogue storms. “Why did you stay in the Steppe? Couldn’t you have just gone to the Basin and asked for help?” She pauses thoughtfully, having never known the full history of the Basin. “I suppose Dragon’s Throat too, though that was awfully hot.” She didn’t know which she preferred, the chill or the burn.
Not like she could feel them anymore, anyway.
“And wasn’t there… the Falls? Where was Mirage from?” She pelts him with questions, wondering and learning and curious. Infinitely curious.
But she moves from her spot to sit across from him again for the story to be relayed, to learn more about who he was before she arrived. She didn’t think many got this opportunity and she was here for it, with eyes that sparkle with a small amount of greed and wonder. And when he says Mauja’s name, Rexanna grows nostalgic, a smile crossing her features. “Oh, Mauja.” She comments with a small smile at the memory of the freckled man, the closeness he had with Tembovu, and the hands he seemed to have everywhere.
But she draws quiet again to listen, a brow lifting. As he mentions their refuge had been the Steppe, a frown crosses the corners of her lips as she takes a sip from her drink. She recalls the chilled, howling winds, without the protection of the Basin to guide against the rogue storms. “Why did you stay in the Steppe? Couldn’t you have just gone to the Basin and asked for help?” She pauses thoughtfully, having never known the full history of the Basin. “I suppose Dragon’s Throat too, though that was awfully hot.” She didn’t know which she preferred, the chill or the burn.
Not like she could feel them anymore, anyway.
“And wasn’t there… the Falls? Where was Mirage from?” She pelts him with questions, wondering and learning and curious. Infinitely curious.
and a wound in the other
