where'er the goddess turns her melancholy gaze, Man his loathsomeness displays
“They are more small villages and homesteads than cities and settlements,” she allows with what amounts to her version of a sheepish grin; small, self-conscious. Though she has seen very few of them in her relatively new travels, Anju had been similarly surprised by the frequency of abodes in the Wilds. Mostly those who didn’t want to be around others - or worse, those who’d lost everyone else and lived only with the ghosts that remained - and as such Anju deigned to leave them in peace.
The as yet unnamed man leads her inside, and though she’s still morbidly curious the Dragoon is grateful to sit on the cool steps instead of ascending deeper into the tower. She folds gracefully, the empty space at her feet causing her to pause, missing Riya anew. Her dark brow furrows as he unveils the history of the Spire, full lips pulling downward. “The Core? What is that? I thought the barrier was created to imprison The Voice?” She’s no historian or Order recruit. Her worth lies in her bladework, not her knowledge of The Voice. All she needs to know, personally, is her crime and the fact she continues to exist against all reason and morals. “So she was not able to move about the Grounds freely?” How then had she freed herself?
His laughter makes the tension dissipate further from her shoulders, even inspiring a small smile from the stern woman. “So are you merely a traveler as well? Though you say ‘we’, are you an Outlander who has merely decided to stay?” It feels strange to ask so many questions. Anju is not naturally this curious, but for once she finds herself genuinely craving to know more. Though she hunches slightly as her ill-used manners read their head. “I suppose I should give you my name if I’m going to be so presumptuous. I am-” she falters for a split second, realizing he had charmed her well enough for her to forget herself, and she debates whether to be honest, “- Anju. And you?” She is relatively meaningless, a ghost to any beyond Stormbreak’s walls, or so she tells herself to feel better about the potential mistake.
The as yet unnamed man leads her inside, and though she’s still morbidly curious the Dragoon is grateful to sit on the cool steps instead of ascending deeper into the tower. She folds gracefully, the empty space at her feet causing her to pause, missing Riya anew. Her dark brow furrows as he unveils the history of the Spire, full lips pulling downward. “The Core? What is that? I thought the barrier was created to imprison The Voice?” She’s no historian or Order recruit. Her worth lies in her bladework, not her knowledge of The Voice. All she needs to know, personally, is her crime and the fact she continues to exist against all reason and morals. “So she was not able to move about the Grounds freely?” How then had she freed herself?
His laughter makes the tension dissipate further from her shoulders, even inspiring a small smile from the stern woman. “So are you merely a traveler as well? Though you say ‘we’, are you an Outlander who has merely decided to stay?” It feels strange to ask so many questions. Anju is not naturally this curious, but for once she finds herself genuinely craving to know more. Though she hunches slightly as her ill-used manners read their head. “I suppose I should give you my name if I’m going to be so presumptuous. I am-” she falters for a split second, realizing he had charmed her well enough for her to forget herself, and she debates whether to be honest, “- Anju. And you?” She is relatively meaningless, a ghost to any beyond Stormbreak’s walls, or so she tells herself to feel better about the potential mistake.
ANJU
