[pyrinas]

𝐏 𝐘 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐀 𝐒 : multi-muse & multi-fandom roleplay blog written by nessie ( 25 + est + she/they ). a study in woman/girlhood, resilience, and abandonment. affiliated with @librarywent. aesthetic/musing side blog @pyrinaes.

[pyrinas]

man i was gonna write a quick thing about my main muses' attachment style just for fun, but all those ladies have fearful-avoidant/disorganized :sob:

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM THE SOPRANOS *  assorted dialogue from the television show, adjust as necessary

i find i have to be the sad clown: laughing on the outside, crying on the inside.

i went ahead and ordered some for the table.

when you're married, you'll understand the importance of fresh produce.

we've got guns here.

he just told you to shut the fuck up.

the things i take pleasure in, i can't do.

don't you ever say you hate life.

oh, poor you!

so what, no fucking ziti now?

you want compromise? how's this?

i'll keep this short and sweet.

you're weak. you're outta control. and you've become an embarrassment to yourself and everybody else.

sometimes it's important to give people the illusion of being in control.

are you in the mafia?

tomorrow i can be on time, but you'll be stupid forever.

let me tell you a couple of three things.

you're not gonna believe this.

a wrong decision is better than indecision.

i'm like king midas in reverse here. everything i touch turns to shit.

if you can quote the rules, then you can obey them.

we're soldiers. soldiers don't go to hell. it's war. soldiers kill other soldiers.

we're in a situation where everyone involved knows the stakes and if you are going to accept those stakes, you've got to do certain things.

there's an old italian saying: you fuck up once, you lose two teeth.

someday soon, you're gonna have families of your own and if you're lucky, you'll remember the little moments like this that were good.

hey, i don't even let anyone wag their finger in my face.

it's good to be in something from the ground floor.

those who want respect give respect.

is this a woman thing? you ask me how i'm feeling, i tell you how i'm feeling, and now you're going to torture me with it.

lately, i'm getting the feeling that i came in at the end. the best is over.

my father was in it. my uncle was in it.

maybe i was too lazy to think for myself.

buy land, 'cause god ain't making any more of it.

i don't care how close you are. in the end, your friends are gonna let you down.

family... they're the only ones you can depend on.

take your hat off.

teddy roosevelt once gave an entire speech with a bullet lodged in his chest. some things are just a matter of duty.

some people are so far behind in a race that they actually believe they're leading.

sometimes we're all hypocrites.

other people's definitions of you, sometimes they're more about making themselves feel better. you gotta define yourself.

people only see what you allow them to see.

death just shows the ultimate absurdity of life.

you know when i was depressed i said i didn't want to live? well, i'll tell you something. i didn't want to die.

that's why dinosaurs don't exist no more.

don't touch that! my program's coming on.

i wish the lord would take me now.

our existence on this earth is a puzzle.

i'm getting my wine in position to throw in your damn face.

[pyrinas]

starter for @sanguisprince

"Word reached me that a Frenchman was causing a stir." The park's lamplight cast an amber glow across her face, granting fleeting warmth to features that had long lost such a thing. For a moment, she was not a woman who had watched kingdoms collapse, wars rage, and plagues spread. She was simply someone waiting for a familiar face to appear.

"I wondered if it was ---" She paused; her face flickered with annoyance. Her spoken French had apparently remained just as inadequate as it was when they had last encountered each other. Back then, she had only just begun learning the language, but she supposed it was difficult to improve without anyone to practice with. She had imagined that if they ever crossed paths again, she might have finally shown that his language no longer defeated her. Perhaps now embarrassed by the effort, she abandoned it entirely and returned quickly to English.

"I wondered if it might be you. I must confess, I had not thought our paths would cross again in this lifetime."

[pyrinas]

@librarywent sent: i told the truth. just not all of it.

She was perhaps silent for longer than she should have been. The lie did not wound her at all, though it was not truly a lie at all, she supposed. Lies were familiar things to them. They were taught to be tools that they were supposed to use and recognize. She understood why he withheld, and that truth was rarely given so freely. No, what unsettled her was the sudden and apparent distance. It was as though the chasm between them seemed to widen with every passing day, until she found herself questioning whether it had been there all along.

"Do you remember when we were children and did not need words?" she asked quietly, making sure that her voice was carefully controlled. However, a frown still crept onto her face.

She had spent her entire life knowing Roose, and perhaps even before it. They knew one another in ways no one ever could because there had never been a time when they did not. They had always been mirrors. There had been a time when she could look at him and know exactly what he was thinking. She could tell when he was upset. She knew when he was lying. She remembered even knowing when he wanted to go down to the dungeons at night, even though their father had forbidden it. She had followed him without fear and hesitation.

A pause followed her words, and the faint frown on her features disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by practiced neutrality. "Now I look at you and wonder when it was that you became a stranger to me. Or perhaps, have I become one to you?"

PROMPT.

[mxnofhonour]

@pyrinas

He offers her what he hopes looks to be a genuine smile as he nods his agreement, yet he does not quite feel it reach his eyes. Still, he offers her his arm as they make their way through the keep to their private solar, where breakfast awaits.

They eat in silent, Jaime forcing the food down despite the nausea he feels, brought on likely by his lack of sleep and the lingering fears that he brought home with him from the North.

He hopes she does not notice. He did not wish to add further to the likely stresses of motherhood.

“Tell me, my lady,” he says eventually. “What plans have you for the day?”

[pyrinas]

She readily accepted his arm and returned his gesture with a quiet smile, allowing him what she hoped was a comforting gesture as they made their way through the halls of the Rock. Her fingers rested lightly against his forearm, feather-light, but just enough so that he would know that she was there. She could sense something was bothering him, like the strain in his smile, the heaviness in his movements, and the way his mind seemed to be elsewhere. She knew better than to force someone to speak before they were ready, however.

The quiet between them during their breakfast was not uncomfortable, simply heavy. Iren ate slowly, occasionally casting a glance towards him when she thought he was not paying attention. He ate as though it were simply another duty to complete rather than a meal to enjoy. It was like watching a man force himself through each bite, as though he were still exhausted from the events in the North.

"For today?" she repeated, considering his question as she set her fork down on her plate. "I believe some smallfolk would like an audience this afternoon. Your cousins have been sitting on those with me." Unfortunately, she had not been raised with the education expected of a lady managing a great house during her husband's absence. The Cleganes were not known for listening to grievances, and she had spent the majority of her youth being taught what she could not do rather than what she could.

"You are welcome to join, of course," she quickly added after a moment, not wanting to make Jaime feel excluded in his own hall, though she suspected he was still carrying more exhaustion than he would admit. "Otherwise, the Maester would likely want to see me again today. He would like to check on Genna's growth and that I am... faring well enough."

[pyrinas]

@librarywent sent: "you have such a talent for pretending you're innocent."

"It is exhausting," she admitted, her voice lowering as if she were becoming depleted by the mere thought. Her head tilted a bit, her narrowed gaze lingering on him, quiet in thought. Her mouth opened slightly before closing again, as though weighing whether or not Ramsay had earned the compliment waiting at the tip of her tongue. "Yet, you looked past everything I gave to everyone else."

A small smile, one that was less polished and rehearsed, appeared on her features. "Quite unusual," she sighed, her voice dream-like. "Most quickly decide I am asking more than they are willing to give, but you were so eager." Her fingers drifted over the heavy pelts draped across his shoulder with the familiarity of a well-kept cat grooming one of its own before her hand climbed lazily to his jaw. Her hand cupped his cheek, and her thumb began to stroke his skin with unusual tenderness.

She tilted his head upwards, deliberately reminding him that she had a few inches on him. "You wanted me terribly," she continued, her voice light with teasing, far too pleased by her realization to pretend otherwise. She had spent years entertaining men who desired the woman she had been expected to become. He was the only one who had desired her exactly as she was. Lenora had not decided if that spoke to remarkable perception or awful judgement on his end. "You did not even send a raven to your Lord Father of your desire, nor did you bother with a charade of courtship... How terribly improper."

She leaned down to scatter small kisses against his flesh with a pleased hum as she pulled herself closer to him. "How are you going to explain this when you return to the Dreadfort?" she asked against his ear, her breath hot and lingering against his skin.

PROMPT.

[sanguisprince]

Milan, 1852. Lestat has been asleep for half a century and when he wakes, he is surprised to find that not much has changed. He has not missed any industrial revolution, one that will not come for another century. Culture has not changed so much that he does not recognize it and the language is still intelligible, though not his mother tongue. Gabriella taught him little of it. Another thing she guarded, unwilling to give of herself. Fine, he thought. He understood enough to get by, if not clumsily. He wakes and digs himself from the earth and the first thing he does is hunt. A man, on a farm on the outskirts of the city.

Older than he'd like - his clothes are old and out of fashion but certainly not more than Lestat's. No family, no one to ask about him, and blood in Lestat's belly. He takes what few valuables remain and tucks them into his jacket, continuing on to the city. It's easy to blend in. A call to Roget ensures the continuing availability of his funds, bequeathed to him by his maker, and he makes himself comfortable. A nice place to stay, wine and spirits. Women, men. He's living, or at least he's trying. Nicki would want that, wouldn't he? No, he'd want Lestat to be miserable without him.

To live and die alone rather than move on. But he can't focus on that. No, it is the 19th century and Lestat de Lioncourt will not lay down and die. He will not succumb to his grief or his loneliness. He has no companion now, but he can manage. And he does, for weeks. Nothing seems strange or amiss until he feels it. That familiar feeling. A tingle down the spine. The way you know you are being watched. It's Magnus all over again and as soon as he realizes he is being followed, he is filled with mortal terror. Unsuited to him now, a terrible vampire. And then he becomes curious. What could they want? The game begins. He uses this person's dedication to his advantage, and in return, he learns patterns. They're sloppy.

The hunted becomes the hunter, though he's careful not to let them know he knows. Until he's tricked them into thinking he is unaware and he finds himself alone in a dark alley, after nightfall. Mud on his boots, dressed like the wealthy son of Italy he is posing as. His tone is warm and conversational, his expression mild. No anger or suspicion. "You've been following me for weeks, no? Were you ever going to reveal yourself, or just keep watching? I know I'm beautiful and interesting but there must be some greater purpose to your stalking." He speaks to no one in particular, and he waits.

@pyrinas

[pyrinas]

He had always excelled at learning things about people, no matter how small or big the secret. He could make quick work of a bartender who sampled his own supply too often or a dockworker drowning in his debts. Information came the quickest when people handed it over themselves, whether they realized they did or not. A loose or bought tongue felt more reliable and straightforward than stalking through alleyways every night.

Mercurio had caught the Frenchman lingering a moment too long before rounding a corner a handful of times, quickly proving that he lacked the patience and talent for surveillance. He had managed to avoid being caught each time, or at least he had thought so. This was not his usual work, and it clearly showed.

Who is he? Who sent him? Why is he in Milan? Sebastian had asked simple questions, but they were deceptively difficult to answer. Weeks had passed, and Mercurio had little more than educated guesses. That was a generous way to put it. The blond spoke with an accent close enough to Sebastian's for him to conclude he was French. He carried himself with confidence, like a noble would, though the clothes he had first arrived in Milan in were decades out of fashion. Somehow, he had acquired enough money to live comfortably, yet there was no way to pinpoint where exactly it came from. He had no companions, except the ones he kept at night occasionally, and no sire.

Each evening, he convinced himself the next conversation he heard would reveal everything. Perhaps the Frenchman was searching for someone. Perhaps he had fled France. Perhaps he carried news that would upset the delicate balance Sebastian worked to create and maintain in Milan. Instead, every trail ended the same way: with nothing new, making him dread returning to Sebastian with a whole lot of nothing once again. This assignment threatened to undo the faith his maker put in him.

Mercurio exhaled softly as he watched the blond disappear into yet another narrow alley, repeating the same nightly reassurance he offered to himself every night this month. He had intended to linger at the alley's mouth so that more space could be put between them, but instead, his thoughts wandered elsewhere again. He was already rehearsing another apology he would owe Sebastian that night, but by the time he realized he had closed the gap between them, it was already too late. The game was over, though it seemed to have been for a while.

"I'm grateful you asked me instead of tearing my head off," he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. His words were awkward. He slowly raised both hands, palms open in a gesture of truce. "My maker... He just requested I find out why you decided to make his city your home." A beat passed before he sighed through his nose. He wondered if he could keep this introduction a secret later. Likely not. "I suppose I was not the best choice for the task."

[pyrinas]

@librarywent sent: that's funny, you didn't say that last night.

She could just faintly make out the outline of the Eiffel Tower through the gaps between the tree limbs and blue-gray slate rooftops. Its lights twinkled against the darkness of the Parisian night. She had heard that during the occupation, it remained dark because of blackouts and bombings. The occasional paper published by the resistance left behind in the sewers and the rats made sure she stayed up to date on the happenings despite not clambering out of the dark, wet tunnels until the fall.

"I have been alive for six centuries. I can change my mind overnight if I so wish," she snapped, head turning slightly at the younger vampire's words, her attention finally breaking from the skyline. She looked at Claudia, irritation bubbling in her chest, before taking a deep breath so that the annoyance would fizzle out as quickly as it surfaced.

A sigh, almost filled with regret because of her tone, escaped her lips. Claudia remained forever frozen in adolescence, something she was sure that the girl would not soon forget. Constance remembered that age all too well. She imagined the convent was at its wits' end with her by the time she decided to run away. All she had done was test the sisters' boundaries and treat their conversations as a challenge of sorts. Whereas she eventually grew out of such behavior, Claudia had not been given that chance.

Spindly legs uncrossed and stretched out into the pathway, the tip of her shoe greeting a rat that darted across the cobblestones. She nudged its cheek gently, and with the same casual affection one might reserve for a household pet. Rather than bolting, the creature lingered, whiskers twitching as it chittered.

"I have learned some additional details," Constance answered, her tone considerably calmer than before, though her words were now more cryptic. The edge that had previously sharpened her voice had dulled and been replaced by certainty. Her gaze lingered briefly on the rat as it slipped between her feet, its paws clicking against stone before disappearing beneath a heap of garbage spilling into a neighboring alleyway. She watched it flee, possibly a moment longer than necessary, before returning her attention to the younger vampire.

"Be careful with your... friends."

PROMPT.

[pyrinas]

cyb lestat is friends with this guy

God forbid a man try to change it up every few decades ( the mustache was a peel-and-stick from a Halloween store ). He's just trying to find his true, authentic self.

[pyrinas]

@librarywent sent: "you weren't supposed to hear that."

"Your voice carries," she answered, her subtle way of saying it is your fault I heard you. Her words remained surprisingly delicate as she fought to preserve her guise of being his sweet betrothed, despite his own facade having just been ruined. If he were observant, he might have caught the faintest of twitches at the corner of her mouth as she worked to mask her annoyance.

Meekness physically pained her. Ever since taking control of Searchlight when her father and brother left to fight the Young Wolf's war, she had grown accustomed to doing what she wanted without little concern. Now, she was to shrink herself again. This time, it was out of deliberation to make herself seem less of a threat than being forced. Still, it reminded her too much of Leland and the years he spent trying to rein her in and guide her as though she were a wild horse. She did not want his guidance. She had always wanted to determine her own course, which she felt was truly free to do now that he had been so unfortunately killed at the Red Wedding. Even so, she had to be cautious with the company in her castle.

Her head tilted to the side, curious as a cat, as she tightened her light blue shawl around her shoulders, feigning a chill. Her eyes wandered from the raven-haired man to his crony, her gaze sharp and bright in the glow of the still-roaring hearth. Gods, how unslightly, she thought, unable to suppress the look of disgust that now painted her face. She only regarded him long enough to commit every unpleasant feature to her memory before dismissing him with a sluggish flick of her wrist, and to her surprise, he quickly shuffled out. She imagined he figured his lord could handle her. She would have one of her guards hunt him down before sunrise, though, whether they returned him with stumps in place of his hands or without his head attached was still undecided.

"Poisoning is quite boring, and a hunting accident is quite out of character for me," she sighed, slippered feet padding gently across the great hall's stony floors as she neared Ramsay with little fear. Most wives-to-be would be instantly fearful if they had just heard their betrothed conspiring to kill them. "I believe the rookery fall and the beeswax drowning were my favorite ideas you had."

"I, too, have been spending the better part of our engagement trying to figure out how to kill you," Lenora admitted, sliding herself into the empty chair beside him once the gap between them had disappeared. "It is nothing personal, of course. It simply seemed irresponsible not to, especially given the poor Lady Hornwood's passing... I fear my plans were not as original as yours, however." Efficient and certain were a different story. She looked up at him from her seat, a small smirk playing on her lips now. "I hope this does not completely spoil our engagement."

PROMPT.

[librarywent]

"You're not so sly, you know." Rhys said with a scoff, trying to stifle the smirk that tugged each corners of her reddening cheeks. She examined the necklace carefully. "So where'd you manage to steal this from, huh?"

@pyrinas

[pyrinas]

"I didn't steal it," she insisted (as always), her own playful smile twitching on her features as she stared down at Rhys' fingers examining the necklace. "You know how rich people are... sometimes they just throw things away, y'know?"

[pyrinas]

She lingered just inside the threshold, refusing to cross fully into the next room. Orchid eyes bore into the shoes and floorboard, noting every knot and scuff, as her spindly fingertips gripped the doorframe as if it were an anchor. Another thing she refused to do: look at him, despite the soft candlelight inviting her in and bathing the room in gold.

She was overwhelmed. Her senses now felt more aware than ever. There were too many smells and too many noises. Chatter from the port city's nightlife pounded in her skull, and the smell of a stew eaten in the room a few days ago lingered in her nostrils. She wanted it all gone. She liked it better out in the countryside, near where he took her. It had been quieter, more peaceful, especially before he had appeared.

"Outside?" she asked, practically flinching as soon as it left her lips. Esmae remembered how only hours ago, he had gotten angry at her for her one-word sentences. She would have to try again. "Can I... go outside?" A pause. "Please." She hoped that made him more agreeable. She wanted to get away from the city, maybe even from him, though she doubted that was a possible outcome for the night.

She was not hungry, though he would surely make sure she ate. A lesson he would most likely call it. The guilt from previous nights kept her stomach full, though. Petyr had forced her to stalk a drunk down an alleyway, but she, of course, hesitated. Though drunk, the man still had his wits about him to swing his bottle at Esmae's head and holler. If not for Petyr, she would have been discovered due to the commotion. He would not let her forget that as glass was picked out of her temple later that evening, blood still crusted on her lips. Despite it all, the possibility of the drunk having a family she took him from still gnawed at her.

starter for @librarywent

[mxnofhonour]

@pyrinas

He meets her halfway, joining her in a lingering kiss. One filled with words as yet unspoken, with promises that she would be safe with him.

It feels like a lifetime when he does eventually draw back, hand remaining where it had found itself on the side of her neck, thumb delicately stroking her cheek.

“We can leave tomorrow, if you wish,” he murmurs. “I have everything important to me here already…everything else in my apartment is just there for show.”

He kisses her again, just briefly this time.

“Though a fair warning…Charles in number one in this relationship,” he smirks, gesturing to the battered plush lion laying haphazardly on the chair in the corner of the room. “He gets priority space in our bed.”

[pyrinas]

She leaned into his touch, eyes closing as he claimed another kiss and stayed shut afterwards, happily savoring the affection. As much as she wanted to continue, she found herself drifting between the realms of awake and asleep. They had, after all, had a rather active evening.

"Ah," she mused, the evidence of her exhaustion becoming obvious as her speech slowed and as her eyes fluttered. She curled closer, almost desperate for more of their skin to touch. "Well, I appreciate being invited into your bed and that he did not mind."

[mxnofhonour]

@pyrinas

His response is to draw her closer, trying to offer her some semblance of comfort. Pressing a gentle kiss to her brow in the process.

“You did nothing wrong,” he murmurs, hearing the words in his own head in the voice of his therapist, something she told him time and time again. “I…sometimes the world deals us a terrible hand. It does not mean we deserve it.”

He falls silent for just a moment before continuing to speak.

“I blamed myself for what Cersei did to me for years,” he admits. “Still do, sometimes. But she made those choices, worked away for years to get me to the point I’d bend to her will. I didn’t do anything to make her that way, other than be convenient for her warped view of maintaining the Lannister line. But she lost…and a part of me is hopeful that seeing us together at the awards has made her lose what is left of her sanity.”

He can see it now, his sister paralytic drunk in her apartment. Trying desperately to call him, to hurl her vitriol at him. Only to find he has blocked her on all platforms.

It is then that an idea strikes him. One likely born from the alcohol that still floods his mind, but he also knows he has never been quite so serious in his life.

“Run away with me,” he says, shifting just enough to meet her gaze. “Somewhere in Essos…where the cunts who plague us cannot find us. We could settle down…just you and I and…”

The words leave him before he can stop them.

“Marry me, Iren. Let us start a new life together. The life we deserve.”

[pyrinas]

She went still in his arms, breath catching painfully in her chest as his words reached her ears and settled. For a long moment, she found herself unable to look at him. Not out of hesitation or aversion, but because she feared that if their eyes met too soon, his offer might entirely disappear. Instead, her fingers slipped into his hair, gently curling into golden locks so she could cling to his warmth and ground herself in knowing what he offered was true.

"I would like that, very much," she finally whispered, shifting closer until their foreheads met. Something between a laugh and sob escaped her lips. For the first time in her life, the future did not feel uncertain or a threat.

Her nose brushed against his as she drew in a breath, bronzite colored eyes meeting emeralds. "Very much," she repeated, her conviction stronger now. Her heart pounded against her chest, now from excitement rather than the usual anxiousness. "I'll go with you. I'll marry you." She leaned in more, yearning for another kiss from him.

[pyrinas]

The dinner was worse than the service. At least the service had the decency to be brief, she thought bitterly, her lips curling into a deep frown. This was painfully drawn out because no one dared to be the first to leave. Silverware clinked awkwardly against perfect china as people continued the sham of pretending to pick at their meals. She could hear hushed whispers of Leland --- how tragic to die so young, so unfortunate for his parents, and how mysterious it was that his body was never recovered.

Before Lenora was an untouched plate of food that had gone cold a long time ago, as her fingers curled tightly around the glass of wine before her. She resented Leland because she would never be able to taste wine again. Still, she drank out of habit. There was something still comforting about the motion of the glass to her lips, despite everything she swallowed tasting like ash.

Her body shifted when Jonah sneezed next to her, unfortunately spraying the table due to his refusal to cover his nose. Her frown deepened as the distant cousins and aunts began an echo of bless you. Disgusting. Instead of picking on her, Leland should have focused his attention on his brother.

Bored, her eyes began to wander, taking in the faces of relatives she could never remember the names of, and family friends clustered around her parents. They spoke low and fondly of Leland, acting as if they had known him well. They knew the face he wanted him to. He had always been good at wearing masks. Lenora would grant him that single compliment. He could play the golden boy and a dutiful friend easily, despite neither being close to his true self. He had fooled them all, even their parents.

Her gaze continued to wander, skimming over unfamiliar faces until it landed on two figures lingering near the edge of the room. She vaguely recognized the older one. He was clearly important, most likely a friend of her father's, though his name slipped away like the others. She watched him lean in close, murmuring something sharp and low into the ear of the younger man beside him. His son, Lenora guessed. She could see a faint resemblance, especially with the blueness of their eyes.

She attempted to listen, curiosity prickling, but she found herself unable to focus hard enough. Leland had been stingy with showing her how to use her abilities. Whatever the younger man said seemed to be dismissive or annoyed as he pulled away, pushing through the room with an air of irritation. Lenora carefully watched him go, and without fully meaning to, she found herself slipping away from the table. Jonah said something to her, but like always, it was ignored, along with all the condolences people offered her as she too pushed herself through.

starter for @librarywent

[pyrinas]

@librarywent sent: tell me what you can. from the beginning.

She exhaled slowly, her breath trembling as it left her. She sat quietly, wrestling between honesty and self-preservation for what felt like the millionth time in her life. Telling too much would risk her appearing crazy, but too little would sound evasive and rehearsed. She studied his face, measuring Lucius' patience as she figured out what would be considered middleground. That would be enough to be believed, maybe understood, but not insane.

"From the beginning?" she echoed, the words hanging heavy in the air before she continued on. "When I was little, touching things would show me ... images. I didn't understand what they were at first, but I eventually realized they were memories." She folded in on herself in the chair, shoulders drawn tight, as though she were trying to disappear into the blue and white upholstery. "I told my parents because I wanted reassurance, like any girl would, to be told I was normal... They didn't."

Her jaw clenched as a dull pulsing thrum echoed in her ears, like drums muffled beneath water. Erin squeezed her eyes shut, letting the sound wash over her before banishing them with a small shake of her head. Her lips parted, daring to speak about the gut, but closed with hesitation. That was too much to share, at least for now.

"I learned to keep it to myself after," she whispered to Lucius. "It's safer that way."

PROMPT.