Maeve
Why would you make out of words
A cage for your own bird?
A cage for your own bird?
He doesn't mean it in a bad way. She knows this. Yet his words settle like lead in the pit of her stomach, the wine no longer spreading as sweetly across her tongue, making her nose wrinkle slightly. "Information, huh? I suppose you wouldn't be the first." The Nightshade murmurs, a smile twitching on her lips, but it isn't as warm as the last few have been.
And there it was. Maeve sighs, lowering her glass to rest against her thigh, "Torchline is sworn to Safrin, but the Ascended aren't barred from the region. I don't have plans to fight unless we must." Her eyes flick up to him, trying her best to gauge his response, unsure of how he'd take that. "Adam and Pet were some of the last Ascended that I knew living there, but even they left for the Grounds..." Not that she blamed them. Hell, she'd even encouraged it. Not wanting them hurt if they stayed.
"I do. I have one that goes from my ankle up to my right shoulder." So saying, she shifts her hair from where it's covering up the delicate line work. The same flowers she's named for winding across her skin.
Maeve winces, "Sorry, it's just a sensitive topic these days." The Queen shakes her head, shoulders sagging even as she brings the wine back to her lips. "I hate talking about it. It feels like as soon as people find out who you follow they look at you differently."
And there it was. Maeve sighs, lowering her glass to rest against her thigh, "Torchline is sworn to Safrin, but the Ascended aren't barred from the region. I don't have plans to fight unless we must." Her eyes flick up to him, trying her best to gauge his response, unsure of how he'd take that. "Adam and Pet were some of the last Ascended that I knew living there, but even they left for the Grounds..." Not that she blamed them. Hell, she'd even encouraged it. Not wanting them hurt if they stayed.
"I do. I have one that goes from my ankle up to my right shoulder." So saying, she shifts her hair from where it's covering up the delicate line work. The same flowers she's named for winding across her skin.
Maeve winces, "Sorry, it's just a sensitive topic these days." The Queen shakes her head, shoulders sagging even as she brings the wine back to her lips. "I hate talking about it. It feels like as soon as people find out who you follow they look at you differently."
When it sings so sweet
The screaming, heaving fuckery of the world?
The screaming, heaving fuckery of the world?
