angel.

   ORPHAN-MAKER.  ORPHAN-MAKER.  it echoes in her mind,  old voices rising in chorus only she knows so intimately.  ‘  you can’t always avoid it.  ‘  yasha intones,  quietly.  cryptic bastard.  ‘  if I had a choice,  I would.  but I don’t.  ‘ 

               ‘   molly,  ugh  –  ‘     she’ll act offended,  but really,  she’s glad he’s here.  she can get him back later.

   YASHA DOES NOT speak,  at first.  head turns,  gaze shifts.   she’s not seen the flowers that grow at molly’s grave;  nor does she remember when her book of leaves was freshly bloomed and unpicked.  time has passed.    ‘  I --  just want to fix things.  ‘  she says,  quietly.  ‘   things the empire has done,  things I’ve  ... I’ve done.  ‘ 

HEY SORRY I’VE BEEN GONE... i miss yasha and ive been in mourning for like three months and plotting obann’s murder how are yall

        yasha  raises  a  brow.  ‘ you  don’t  know  anything  about  me. ‘  she  knows  there  is  some  semblance  of  truth  hidden  beneath  the  honeyed  words;  as  always,  she  fears  it.   ‘ and  i  still  don’t  know  what  you  want. ‘