@ahaniia
The low thrum of magic coils around the tips of their fingers, singing and forming little orbs that disperse. It was an act meant to preoccupy, a mere distraction among stone and the soft rustling of trees. In their mind there is no royal weight, no snakes that hiss and twist and lick at the air near their feet.
No Gwyndolin, just a body.
But company would be surely displeased, company in black that approach with perhaps the friendly twist of lips. The sound of a cane against the cracks of stone does not lure their attention immediately, instead it takes many steps and clacks of a cane to truly guide them away from spirals of thoughts. ❛ Ah, a visitor, a friendly face. ❜ Their smile is swift and gone with the wind. ❛ A pleasure to see you once more, V. ❜
