Dan Heng doesn’t know how she shifts between Paths. How she picks, choses. Has tried to ask about it, but her only answer was knotted brows, and a guileless shrug. I just do, she had said, and Dan Heng had left it at that.
There’s no visual change. No indicator, except the weapon she uses, the echo of her in battle- but her smell changes.
Destruction is dust. The way rubble smells, like something festering, falling. She smells the way a bruise feels, blooming sharp and fresh on tender skin, and it makes his teeth ache for something to bite down on, an instinct so unlike himself it always leaves him wrong-footed.
(March says Stelle smells like something artificial, like fake flavours and plastic. Dan Heng’s not sure what that means)
Preservation smells like cement. Like stone and rock, like the way a new house smells, like the way a shield feels, catching a blow. Dan Heng might prefer this one. Might like it more, because it makes something in him settle, feels safe. Stelle’s been leaning on it most, so maybe it’s a learnt feeling, maybe it’s conditioned, Stelle dragging enemy fire her way, and throwing him a smile that’s all teeth, all fire, warm, safe-
He doesn’t want to lose it. Learning new versions of her, new facets, like touching his fingertips to her palms, and finding new callouses, new scars, new things she didn’t have the last time March forced all three of them into a sleepover pile, and Stelle takes their hands in hers, and smiles, and Dan Heng gets to learn her all over again. He doesn’t want to lose that.
(he wonders what the hunt will smell like, on her)
stormborns
origamiaround
turnnoffyourmind
discoholicmusic
yousharknotpass
baratheonpilled
pixelskylines
