who we are and all that we're trying to be
The Sword had zero expectations towards gifts extended to him – known to be bewildered and surprised if he was even remotely thought of. Too used to the decadence of shadows, isolation, and detachment from most, Helovian intervals still a sign in his blood, in his motions (despite having a gathering of family, friends, and loved ones here); as if he couldn’t quite shake off the notion he was worthy of receiving the artifacts at all. So he waited amongst and amidst the sounds and rounds of music, missing the movements and motions of the Ascended, lingering, haunting the backdrop, pondering if this was to be an event without catastrophe, or if the hours were simply biding their precious moments.
So the tap on his shoulder caused the slightest tilt of his head, glancing back over muscle, features not giving away his bewilderment at seeing Weaver behind him. He only arched his brow thereafter, turning towards her as she held out a dragonfly pendant – an offering to him, though clearly not for long. The curl of a smile etched his way along his mouth, a snort following soon after. “Thank you.” There were enough women in his life that would likely appreciate the trinket, and he could handle the chain portion, immediately stoking finer links set to match the vibrant hues of the insect’s wings.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
