the crooked kind

R E X A N N A golden child, lion girl — tell me what it’s like to conquer. If Rexanna was being honest, it wasn’t the first time she had been bound. It hadn’t even been the worst one she’d endured – her trip from Aciend to Halyven had been a brutal one, leaving bruises and sore joints and bones for what seemed like months after her escape. Yet she still unconsciously rubbed at her wrists where they had previously been, magical and strange, and most certainly unexpected. Yet she kept her eyes on him as he shrugged and began to answer her. She nodded along in understanding, agreeing that where she was from, the gods were simply hidden away with no connections other than stories. But his last sentence, the we hung in the air between them and her eyes only widened slightly at the remark. As far as she was concerned, nothing had happened to her. In comparison to what she witnessed, she was perfectly fine. So in order to try and repair the tension that still surrounded them in the air, she nodded to his question. “I’ve been through worse.” She offered as a way of saying that, yes, she was most certainly alright. But as Remi began to speak of his love for Loren and how the god had taken it from him and now wants him to return it, she found herself searching his face curiously. Sorrow cascaded through her sapphire gaze as she looked to him and simply remained listening, interested in the history of him from another place – a place so different from the place she had come from. “Don’t blame yourself.” She began, her brows pulling together as she thought about what Frey had said. “What if it’s not necessarily you finding love again to try and prove it to Frey to get the feeling back? What if you have to help others find that kind of love?” She paused thoughtfully, pursing her lips together. “What sense would it make to have you not love him anymore, to try and find love again, to prove it and love Loren again? Unless that god prefers heartbreak.” She had begun to ramble, her eyes drifting from him back to the shrine. “What if they just want emotion? Not necessarily love, but something else?” She trailed off, her eyes remaining on the shrine. “But what could it be?” fearless child, broken girl — tell me what it’s like to burn.