they hold on to their secrets with clenched fists, the two of them in a curated silence, where they notice, the princess slips into a meandering thought, and all leitha can do is stare. they watch, momentarily, as she brews the tea, meticulous, methodical in movements, one never out of place, trained, delicate, a reminder of a higher place, something stirring back home. causes remembrance, a recollection of the type of person they used to be around, someone aware, someone disciplined, someone careful, a lump swallowed harshly down their throat. it makes them sink lower in their chair, faintly, only when it's ensured the other cannot see, when her back is turned to them does their shoulders slide out from their tension, does their back rest against the chair. the first semblance of relaxation hits the lunar mage, a furrowed brow and tense jaw falls slack ━ for they are never safe, but here, with her, is this facade able to ever so bravely, slip. the moons gleaming &. unclouded face smiles in encouragement, peaking through silken sheets in obstruction, as their meeting, forbidden and secluded.
SLEEP IS A WARY COMPANION. perked upright at the mere passing thought of violence, jumping to its full height at the sound of cracking timber, shivering when a gust of wind blows an iota harsher than most. it is ready to pounce, always aware and heightened, moving onto the next sleepless second &. forgetting about the present and its importance: sleep had always loved to be chased. and chase leitha did not, rather, encourage the mage always had, to slip further and further into a settled, familiar paranoia. the deciding factor for many thousands of dreamless nights, for the fear that the mystic seer would find them in this trance filled void, speak her visions for the starred elf to prophesize. and they are no prophet. ❛ merely, restless? you have much on your mind? ❜ the other does not need to speak for leitha to understand, the turmoils of these lands they have seen with their own eyes. but continue they do, to crack away at the presented ice sculpture, tactfully chipping at its elusive exterior.
a tentative pause when she glances at their hands, and when she does, leitha stares at the simmering tea cup, as if it was the most interesting thing in her royals room. to be perceived, like this, analyzed and doctored, it makes the lump form heavier in their throat. ❛ no, i - i can explain. ❜ the hot liquid forces the silence down their chest, a shrug given, an attempt at indifference. ❛ it was ... during a war. long ago. a plague struck, and i became sick. it gave me, abilities. different ones than i already had. it made me stronger in some ways, but ... sick. sometimes, something will happen and it makes it worse, i get really, desperately, disordered. disoriented. it hurts, a lot. as it does now. ❜ they rub their palms together, their fingers ache when they do so. ❛ it itches. when it is, inflamed like this. i know you can not truly fix it. but i wish for your aid. in whatever way you think it best. i just ... ❜ their voice, small it is, softened it is, hidden from its usual cadence dips into a place of ineptness. ❛ you are my only option. ❜
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