@bonewitchery | x
“No.” His head does not lift from the intricate knotwork of the necklace she’d only moments ago shoved back in his hands, glittering starry chips of jet and bone interspersed between the binding and protecting knots. “Hang it around the eaves, if you wish, or put it in a spell bag on your belt if you care not to look at it. It will work no matter where it is. But it cannot be undone, and I won’t take it back.” And you need it, he thinks, the words ready on his lips but for once he stays his tongue, does not let them fall carelessly. She does, in his estimation, need the protection talisman rather badly, but saying so will do no good to convince her. Months it’d taken him to gather the jet, nearly as long to weave the words and spells into the darkened silver of the necklace itself, and all along he’d known he risked her refusing it as too much. Should’ve just left the bloody thing under her pillow, he thinks, aggravated, for her to discover only after he’s left again, but no small amount of witchery can sometimes be found in the giving itself.
He still does not look at her as his hands lift again to press the gift back into her hands, trying not to let himself be hurt at her attempted refusal.
