"You're a good person, Kelta. You have to be." [I'm thinking anuhea, harling, or eastonian for this one.]
Kelta laughs into her hand a bit, the slightest, silk-fine crease appearing on her brow.
“I don’t know about that,” her words come on an outward sigh, nearly unable to look at the other. “It’s... It’s a nice sentiment though.”
She sounds so terribly sad.











