The Warrior of Darkness was particularly riled up. It was no wonder, really--the strain of the Lightwarden’s aether was bound to affect her moods at some point. She had become volatile: distant, but suddenly emotional. Exhausted and energetic all at once.
Emet-Selch had always told her he’d do naught but observe, of course, but he could not resist the chance to test her.
“Do you have a heart at all?” She asked him in a soft but scathing voice. “In that body, in Solus, do you have a heart that beats like mine?”
“Of course I do,” he said with a shake of his head, “My body is no different from yours, save for the obvious.”
The gloved hand that thumped against his chest was an interesting surprise. He let it linger, curiously, meeting the hero’s emerald gaze while pondering the heat he felt through multiple layers of fabric.
“So I could stop it,” she said even more quietly. She lingered close enough to cause a passerby to stare. Her fingers dug into the fur trim of his jacket. “Just a little jet of electricity. I’m quite good at that, don’t know if you’ve been watching. Zap. Dead. Barely a wound to examine.”
“My dear hero, are you threatening me?” He inquired lightly. His smirk was returned. He swallowed, eerily feeling a sense of deja vu.
“Reminding you,” she said simply. “I know killing your body won’t kill you. But it would be a dreadful inconvenience, now wouldn’t it?”
She withdrew her hand with a cock of her head to one side and a step in retreat.
“Besides,” she added with an unexpectedly warm smile, “Good to know you’re not heartless.”
Emet-Selch frowned and watched her walk away, entirely unsure if he was disgusted or delighted.
