@bashfulbrilliance// (cont. from here)
A small frown took the young girl’s pale pink lips at her mother’s comment--not out of any ill will aimed towards the dancer, but rather out of the knowledge of knowing she is correct. Morgan’s beloved cloak, which had been handed down to her from her father, is rather worn, and much older than herself, so perhaps she should be more careful with the article of clothing. Yet, at the same time, the young, pink-haired girl believes avoiding damage completely to the cloak would be next to impossible. She didn’t plan on going into any battles without it, after all, even if replacing it if it were to be destroyed wouldn’t exactly be easy, if possible. So, after a small huff, the girl crosses her arms over her chest, already feeling rather odd without the heavy cloak adorning her petite form, pipping up with a childish pout.
“ I know, I know...but, mother, father gave me that cloak. I do wear it a lot, but I also take care of it! This time was just...a coincidence. I mean, it’s basically Inigo’s fault,”
Still not past blaming her older sibling for things he actually had little or nothing to do with, the girl watches as her dear mother fixes the large, hooded cloak, noting to herself the seemingly effortless motions the dancer takes to repair the aged fabric of the Plegian attire with a simple needle and thread.
“...Like it was the last time. And the time after that.”
