[SE] incendiary and full of light

evie The kind of flawless I wish I could be "Exactly my thoughts," she agrees warmly, thinking too of Stormbreak and the pervasive anti-Abandoned sentiment that exists there. Halo has always been a haven for Abandoned, the mageglass plentiful as if to lure magic users inward, and Evie is proud to continue that in more open, political ways with the Academy. Though her dream has been transferred to others, its purpose remains, and she has faith in its future success. So drawn into the positive sentiment that creates a warm glow in her chest, Evie doesn't consider the far deeper implications of her question, nor the reaction it sustains in Deimos. She bites down a surprised laugh, charmed by the color in his cheeks, in hopes of not offending or embarrassing him. It's a more sensitive topic for him than herself, and that helps stifle the bubbles of flirtatiousness that would otherwise be more present at the sight of him being so flustered. Admittedly, Evie privately believes it wasn't in the cards not because of him, but Amalia. No matter her history and love for her half-sister, Amalia was always a very selfish person, one consumed with external faith and purpose instead of finding it in herself. Motherhood wouldn't have suited her, in Evie's opinion, but even if it had - the Shield had made her choices, and clearly that hadn't been one of them. Though the Evergreen is reminded again of Kiada, and how she wishes that she could know the girl better, that life would stop keeping her from Halo. "She clearly adores you even with the tension of being Ascended. That is no small feat." Something Evie greatly admires in Deimos. Something she - well, if she was honest with herself - really values in a partner if she were to have children with them. Now it is her turn to flush a little, a strangled giggle-cough escaping at the sudden turn of the tables. Okay, maybe she understands his reaction now. "I don't know if I'd necessarily be a good mom, objectively, but yes. I would be happy to have one, or even more." Looking out at the spiraling pathway and the houses dotted along it, she smiles, a little melancholy. "My father would surely drone on and one about 'continuing the Wordsworth line' or something, but that has never meant anything to me. I just like to think I could break the cycle, raise a child the way I wish I had been. Watch them grow up, become a person." It doesn't help that she loves children as they are, recalling a tiny Seren on the beaches of Torchline, and the boy she'd nearly adopted entirely alone in the Grounds, Dante. Her heart aches to remember him. "There was a brief time I thought I might have adopted one, but he - I'm sure you remember, he left not long after Clemente died." The spitfire had lost it on Deimos in his grief, though the Sword would be forgiven for not remembering given all he had lost that night.