"Samuel." I repeat, drawing the name out like I've never heard it before, and it does sound foreign on my tongue. My hand is accepted, and I smile, glad to have gotten the strangest part of the ritual over with. I do not want to be in close contact with this man for too long though, something that is probably clear in the way I remove my hand. "I've heard of you. Though... I did not know you were... touched, like you are." It is the gentlest way I can think of to describe the corruption of the Voice, no heat in my voice, but pity in my eyes. How unfortunate it must be to have strayed so far from what was natural.
He is staring at me, and it is only because I know what he is that it makes me uncomfortable. I straighten my head, chin jutting out in what might be a challenge, and what might just be an attempt to feel more secure. "How many is many?" I ask, curious about how time flows for him compared to me. I get the feeling many really isn't too long.
Tarasha
the adnascentia of my soul will crack the earth
