in tenebris est veritas.
Brownish sleeves billow in the sea breeze, in gentle rhythm with the layers of dark skirts that are heaped around Chaele’s legs. A tattered cloak is folded upon the rocky ledge, like a little bed for the well-worn pack that sits atop it. A small, dull dagger sits at its side, a promise of caution and protection as the masked woman turns to regard the approaching singer.
They glance down again at the stone in their hand, tossing it up and catching it down in an awkward, attentive motion. Their mouth, partially visible behind the chipped molars of their mask. “I suppose so,” is the pensive reply as their fingers curl possessively back around their little prize. Shadowed eyes glance at the bottle in the stranger's hand, then back to her face. “Are you?”
They glance down again at the stone in their hand, tossing it up and catching it down in an awkward, attentive motion. Their mouth, partially visible behind the chipped molars of their mask. “I suppose so,” is the pensive reply as their fingers curl possessively back around their little prize. Shadowed eyes glance at the bottle in the stranger's hand, then back to her face. “Are you?”
