❝ sAL Is... GooD aMBAss.. EMbaSS... EmpRESS... AmBassA... ❞ The princess is stumbling over the big word, but she's trying to compliment him on being a great ambassador for the sea of death. Eventually Mikotsu gives up, a little frustrated at her inability to pronounce that word. ❝ SAl iS... GOoD. ❞
while she finds herself in a conundrum over words ( how difficult it must be, to speak with vocal chords born of rot &&. decay ), syake knows long ahead of time of what she means. it is not unheard of, for servants to be praised by royalty: an honor, those most docile &&. submissive would decode it. perhaps undeserving, some of the lapdogs would cry, while clinging to the ankles of the regality. to some, it had been their forsaken religion, &&. every word that had dared to roll of their tongues had been that of an unsung gospel. however, while the sea of death had bound his wrists in chains &&. swarmed his head with the ideas that he had been born for his role, that it had been a prophecy, his birthright -- he was by no means a dog.
the ground of which mikotsu had walked on had not been paved in gold, &&. syake’s lips had never dared to press upon it &&. trail after her like she had been his savior. rather, he supposes, that his connection to her must be more personal -- their fates, after all, are painted in similar brushstrokes. a girl unloved by her father &&. cast aside like nothing more than a forgotten doll, &&. a boy who had loved his family &&. a girl so disastrously that he had been long forgotten, left alone to die, a mere afterthought. they had been cut from the same cloth, she, a princess destined to a throne made of marrow &&. bone, &&. he, the ambassador who had placed a crown of thorns &&. rot upon her head. a promise had been made -- one he had intended to keep. it had been for his own agenda, of course, but there had been a small part of him that knew she, with her shared burdens, deserved to reap her share of spoils just as he had.
so he does not regard her praise as if it is holy, &&. he does not treat her unkindly. a hand resides over his heart, a smile blooming across his features as he takes a bow to show respect. a larger hand, dyed black with his glove, takes her smaller skeletal one -- it is a simple gesture, but one of understanding, perhaps. no further attention is given to the matter, of course; it’s best not to leave things misconstrued.
❛ you’re too kind, your grace. but what is a sea without an upstanding ambassador? i live to serve my purpose -- to both you &&. this sea. ♪ ❜
