the spyglass
I used to think that I was bold, I used to think love would be fun
Finn doesn't think it is particularly funny, but then again he is nowhere close to a good judge, and so he keeps the thought to himself. Stepping further into the room, he is able to see the inky markings of Cian's presence; they seep out of his desk and stain his chair and drag along the carpet in the patterns of his pacing. Swallowing, he keeps his eyes on the man himself, pausing near the hearth to ensure he can't get distracted.
"Of course," he says. "What would you like to speak about? I have the relic you spoke about in my possession. I am told that it enables a person to take the form of a basilisk, regardless of race." Cian probably knows all of that already, but it seems worth saying all the same.
"Of course," he says. "What would you like to speak about? I have the relic you spoke about in my possession. I am told that it enables a person to take the form of a basilisk, regardless of race." Cian probably knows all of that already, but it seems worth saying all the same.
now all my stories have been told; except for one
