You continue to torment me, I see.
Odd words, Khada Jhin figures, to say to your bedfellow.
But their... dynamic (he couldn’t hasten to call it a relationship) is hardly short of those nonsequiturs and oddities; so much so that anything bordering reality from surreal would become cause for concern instead of the other way around
He looks at Irelia, tall in his corner of darkness, but he knows he does not have to say anything to answer. Instead he leans forward, showing her his unmasked face as filtered through the moonlight of her quarters, in his mind smiling although motionless in the face. In one moment he lords over that corner-- the next and he is beside her.
It is not the first time they have had this dance.
Khada Jhin, true to his talents, knows it isn’t the last.
He has flung his curses, she has flung her blades. He has flung promises and poetry on the mantle of her demise, she has flung her determination on the decorum of his defeat.
But he’s in her house. Wielding no more than his own hands. Staring, fingers catching.
Odd words indeed.
“And you, a disease that won’t leave me.”