[Seasonal Event] stitch away from making it

She does not mean to have a callous nature towards the Deaths - and there seemed to be so many, this is quite the dangerous world she’s landed in. More so than Portsmouth. Or the wilds of America, even. But she didn’t know the ones who died, aside from Bastien. And she’s been trying this new thing where she looks towards the future instead of the past. The past made her who she is, but a couple of months ago everything drastically changed and it is so achingly different than what lies ahead of her. Death is… foreign to her, almost; a natural, everyday fact, but still somehow at arm’s length. It hasn’t invaded her thoughts, hasn’t rocked her to sleep at night. She knows nothing of the kind of carnage that can be wrought upon the world. It’s all a giant fable, meant to scare kids. Lily oozes beautiful, white woman privilege and she doesn’t even know it, other than the little voice that says in the back of her mind thank goodness you were a lady’s maid and not in the scullery. She pauses in her work and fixes Deimos with a heartfelt gaze, wiping a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “I’m glad they’re ok,” she says, having conveniently missed that part of the drama at the Rathskellar. But instead of turning back to the debris that still litters the area, she continues to look at the hulking bit of sandstone before her: so stoic, so brief, so… mostly unreadable. Finally, she just takes a breath and asks. “Are you all right, Deimos?” No flirtatious edge, no jesting tones - just a genuine concern and curiosity for the man she knows nothing about and yet seems inexplicably fond of. lily as if you were on fire from within the moon lives in the lining of your skin