Elide
Elide shakes her head dismissively of his apologies, thinking that it's perhaps her who owes him the apologies - but she doesn't voice her multitudes either. She does glance down toward Belial as he seems to realize his mistake. The nonverbal apology he offers is a pleasant surprise. "It's okay. No real harm done," she tells the creature gently, whether it can understand or not.
At the question of her work, she looks down at the journal in her hands. A tipped brow directs back at him and her lips part to tell him it's nothing she couldn't redraft, when suddenly the water seems to be sucked right out of the fibers of the pages.
She startles with some surprise, lifting the book to watch with intrigue as it happens. When it's over, she parts the pages to see that it's as if it never happened. "Hm," she chuckles softly and clasps it shut once more, tucking it within the crook of her arm. "Not anymore, thank you," she says and looks back up at him.
There's a pregnant pause after this, as she seems to consider something. "I regret that we haven't spoken much since LongNight," she says, "I should have come to tell you what happened." Why she hadn't remains unsaid. That didn't really matter, and she's not one for excuses anyway. Old patterns are hard to give up, though. She's not used to being apart of people's lives, though the obligation rests there anyway, and she feels some amount of guilt - especially after seeing him at Noah's. There had been something in the air and she realized it then, her mistake.
At the question of her work, she looks down at the journal in her hands. A tipped brow directs back at him and her lips part to tell him it's nothing she couldn't redraft, when suddenly the water seems to be sucked right out of the fibers of the pages.
She startles with some surprise, lifting the book to watch with intrigue as it happens. When it's over, she parts the pages to see that it's as if it never happened. "Hm," she chuckles softly and clasps it shut once more, tucking it within the crook of her arm. "Not anymore, thank you," she says and looks back up at him.
There's a pregnant pause after this, as she seems to consider something. "I regret that we haven't spoken much since LongNight," she says, "I should have come to tell you what happened." Why she hadn't remains unsaid. That didn't really matter, and she's not one for excuses anyway. Old patterns are hard to give up, though. She's not used to being apart of people's lives, though the obligation rests there anyway, and she feels some amount of guilt - especially after seeing him at Noah's. There had been something in the air and she realized it then, her mistake.
never before had the song of war
been the song of hope ascending
been the song of hope ascending
