the devil is not as black as he is painted
"Safrin is fine, sugar." The goddess drawled, vivacity sparking for a fleeting moment like a comet trail through her eyes as she looked from Adam to Amalia and back again. Adam's boldness was a welcome change to the looks that her frailty inspired—even Amalia, normally so bold in her piety seemed cowed by the goddess' current state.
"Well now. Were I Frey you might have more than just a mouthful to worry about." Safrin said, her voice equal parts amusement equal parts disdain for her fellow god. Then, pouting softly, the goddess shook her head. "It's that noticeable, mmm?" She murmured, eyes falling softly upon Amalia as if thinking she might be the only one to offer up real honesty.
"Well now. Were I Frey you might have more than just a mouthful to worry about." Safrin said, her voice equal parts amusement equal parts disdain for her fellow god. Then, pouting softly, the goddess shook her head. "It's that noticeable, mmm?" She murmured, eyes falling softly upon Amalia as if thinking she might be the only one to offer up real honesty.
