“I like to think that I’m quite invulnerable when naked. I’m terribly distracting, I don’t know a soul who’d think to try to take advantage.” That wasn’t true, not even slightly. The whole reason he stood in front of her, legged, on land was because there had once been a wytch who’d looked at his naked form as she farmed him for his scales. He was left an alive thing, less a thinking thing, just a plant with precious petals to be plucked. And she plucked, one after another, a torturous affair. How could he forget? He didn’t, he just liked to play pretend. “Think you weak? Was it not you that just offered the earth it’s life blood from your hand?” Vik was even more deeply confused by who he was looking at, emphasis on the who. It didn’t matter what she was, he knew that her abilities came too naturally to be a mere incantation. “Better than most? Not the first time I’ve heard that.”Â
“Then you should count yourself truly lucky,” she said with a smile, “There are several I know who would think to do exactly that.” Fiadh was thinking of the fey she had grown used to. Those who whispered about her. Picked on her and made cruel unrelenting jokes on her behalf. Of course, there were those who would tell her to take no mind of them. But she was a fragile soul and cruelty made wounds that were cut deep into her. Though as she sat with this being she felt no such thing from him. He seemed much too kind and soft for such antics. “I am not who I was meant to be,” she said simply, “There are those who see this as weak and fragile. In some aspects they are not wrong. I am fragile but not in the way they think.” Her fingers danced over the petals of the flowers as she thought about who she had met in her times here. How many knew who and what she was. Judging her before they had gotten the chance to even get to know her. How it had cut her soul. “You’re not like most others I have met,” she said, “You’re much kinder than those who whisper.”