[seasonal event] blindsided

REXANNA they say that war is hell, but true hell begins when the battle ends — There was an honest laugh that escaped her lips at the imagery he painted and the knowledge of his age. She looked at him then with a wide, bright grin. “If old age is what claims me, I’ll outlive you old man” She teased with a wink sent his direction and another quiet chuckle. But as he began to speak of his home, her fingers continued their tracing — her soft fingers roving over his muscular figure. She tried to imagine the events and places he spoke of, but they all appeared to her as Halyven in its heyday. Arts and music and happy, vibrant people. But she enjoyed the image anyway, encouraging it to devour the very same city engulfed in flame and tumbling brick by brick. She nodded though, raising her other arm to rest on his chest and give her a place to rest her chin so she could more comfortably gaze at him. “I suppose people do what they have to in order to survive. Perhaps they mourn you and if you were to return you’d be some kind of martyr?” She added with a small crooked grin. If he was as famous and popular as he lead her to believe, it’d be nothing short of miraculous that he’d return. And with his reactions to her magic, she figured the people there didn’t harness it either. But she knew that he might like that answer, and it might put him a bit at ease if he were to return to that place he came from. “I think that hope is an immensely powerful thing. It’s something people can cling to despite everything that happens to them.” She nestled in a bit closer. “For the record, I hope you get to see your home again one day.” She offered with a kind smile — eyes dancing from his own dark gaze to his lips once again. “I’ll immensely miss your flair for the dramatics though.” She hummed to him with a smile, leaning ever so slightly closer into him. and you're the only one who's hands drip red. the real war rages in your heart; it always has.