at death's door

if it doesn't burn a little

”To each their own,” she says with a shrug, clearly not judging his choice. No, in fact, like usual, she finds herself a bit surprised. Despite knowing at least some of his history, she cannot help but imagine the Palace making everyone who lives in it soft. Yet Loren seems to still be himself, and she wonders if he enjoys his place within Halo’s elite, or if he’d prefer to be anywhere else. Now is not the time for such conversations though, and instead she merely jokes. ”You would hate my bed, then.” The tone is not suggestive, just teasing. Her bed was made of so many feathers, largely because they ate so much ningo. They needed something to do with the extra feathers.

She chuckles. ”What if I just want to collect a piece of you?” she asks with a playful grin, feigning a grab toward his feathers with no intention of actually plucking one. ”I have only hair to pluck in return, though you are welcome to some.” She picks up her braid and lets it drop back down unceremoniously against her chest.

Weaver pulls out an order from Devas for some various goodies, including pies. She turns to Loren, about to ask if he thinks they are for the party, but he’s gone still and his eyes are watery and he seems lost to something he’d found. Gently, she reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder. ”What’d you find?” she asks, voice soft.

-- weaver

then what's the point in playing with fire?

Photo by Allef Vinicius | Quote by Bridgett Devoue