when it's just the two of us, only the two of us
"Of course you can," Isla all but whispers to him, as if she's unsurprised to hear that from Remi. After all that has happened for the alchemist in recent days, to hear him so humble and simultaneously so generous calls back to a time that she had almost assumed was forever gone. And her heart soars to know that it isn't, Isla almost captivated by him as he explains, her eyes catching on every trace of joy in his expression, from his dimples to the glimmer in his eyes.
"That sounds like Mort," she whispers, of the God of Death just appearing to go for a stroll with Ludo's demigod. What Isla doesn't expect is for the swamp ahead to become a glade dappled with warm sunlight (sunlight that doesn't cause a flutter of panic in her chest, to boot) or for Remi to tug her close again.
Even a glimpse of the god, sweet and serene in the woods, is enough to have her eyes prickling a bit, and she hugs the alchemist in return with bright smile. "I love you too, Remi," she mumbles. "How are things going in the Greatwood? Even without running into Mort, it sounds very magical."
"That sounds like Mort," she whispers, of the God of Death just appearing to go for a stroll with Ludo's demigod. What Isla doesn't expect is for the swamp ahead to become a glade dappled with warm sunlight (sunlight that doesn't cause a flutter of panic in her chest, to boot) or for Remi to tug her close again.
Even a glimpse of the god, sweet and serene in the woods, is enough to have her eyes prickling a bit, and she hugs the alchemist in return with bright smile. "I love you too, Remi," she mumbles. "How are things going in the Greatwood? Even without running into Mort, it sounds very magical."
i could die
Isla
