NEPHELE
Tension immediately runs through her shoulders, making her wingtips vibrate with a swell of emotion she can't parse. Part of her - the part that is distinctly Fae, that belongs to her people no matter her independent nature - wants to grab the nearest book and hurl it into his face. A follower of The Voice? Is he Ascended, then? Had he been one of those to kill the Fae defending the Mathair? The other part of her is so distinctly curious she can barely bite back the volley of questions she wants to ask. Aware of what an opportunity this is not just for her own curiosity, but her books. Her plans. It is what finally reduces the tension in her spine. "Godly knowledge for the same. A fair trade. If my prayers are answered someday, you have my word to honor our exchange." And a Fae's word is not to be taken lightly.
Age is nigh meaningless to Nephele, so she has no such qualms regarding the asking. "I am only fifty-three." Relatively new to the adulthood phase of life, but unashamed of that fact. She is still close to double the age of most of the Grounders. Neph tilts her head at Sam, stare intense as she considers his question, silent for perhaps too long to be socially acceptable. "No," she says at last. "I will need time to perfect my questions so as not to waste time on answers. I will write them in my journal in preparation for our next meeting, be it for our exchange or by stroke of chance." There is a distinct undertone of goodbye in her words, not that she is the type to say them. But the way she adjusts the strap of her bag and lingers only long enough for Sam to respond makes clear her intentions.
Age is nigh meaningless to Nephele, so she has no such qualms regarding the asking. "I am only fifty-three." Relatively new to the adulthood phase of life, but unashamed of that fact. She is still close to double the age of most of the Grounders. Neph tilts her head at Sam, stare intense as she considers his question, silent for perhaps too long to be socially acceptable. "No," she says at last. "I will need time to perfect my questions so as not to waste time on answers. I will write them in my journal in preparation for our next meeting, be it for our exchange or by stroke of chance." There is a distinct undertone of goodbye in her words, not that she is the type to say them. But the way she adjusts the strap of her bag and lingers only long enough for Sam to respond makes clear her intentions.
Someone is learning the colors
of all your moods
of all your moods
