❛ is that blood? is it yours? ❜ — for aly
@cregn /PROMPTS.
Sunlight brightens her eyes, warm brown instead of nigh black, glancing at the northern lord ere returning to herself. Red tinges her skin, her skirts, her hair, likely, or the portion of black curls that escaped the confinement of her braid. It is blood; a small amount of it, Alysanne reckons, compared to how much bloodier the path here had been.
A pain to wash off, regardless.
❝ Hmm, ❞ Agreement hummed, musical and soft. ❝ Most of it belonged to the poor men fighting for the usurper, though, ❞ There is no joy to it, yet neither is there regret. Delicate hands were a privilege relinquished, delicate heart one she perhaps never possessed.
The side of her forearm is lifted for him to see, a long line someone's blade had slashed upon her skin amidst the conflict. Distress she dismisses with a half-smile. ( Clean, disinfect, dress it accordingly; the steps a familiar dance, performed time and again for herself, or Ben, or Sabitha, or the Tully boys. What is a little bit more blood? ) ❝ There's nothing to worry about, Lord Stark — though the concern is appreciated. ❞
