in tenebris est veritas.
Her hand clenches, its long dirty nails pressing into her palm as her wrist flexes beneath carved skin. The story, however brief, seems to confirm what was already assumed– and Chaele is not amused. “Perhaps the gods fear to be cursed in turn,” she offers bitterly but lowly, as if it made any difference in how well a deity might hear her.
“My divinations are like riddles to be contemplated, not facts to be anticipated. They could not tell me what you said to your Abandoned friend, nor whether I am fated to be cursed for my disdain.” She looks down at her hand, only then realizing the tension in it, and softens her grip on herself. The glow of his smiles seem to stop just short of her, a dark gravity weighing in the pitch of her voice. “But I see more every time they are done. Like creeks in rain, they make themselves known. Just as with my magic: through no help of gods.”
“My divinations are like riddles to be contemplated, not facts to be anticipated. They could not tell me what you said to your Abandoned friend, nor whether I am fated to be cursed for my disdain.” She looks down at her hand, only then realizing the tension in it, and softens her grip on herself. The glow of his smiles seem to stop just short of her, a dark gravity weighing in the pitch of her voice. “But I see more every time they are done. Like creeks in rain, they make themselves known. Just as with my magic: through no help of gods.”
