#come from

Like how many of our emotions are related to physical signs of life:

-breathing(like le gasp or hyperventilating)

- blushing/having a flush

-heart rate/pulse

-sweating

-goosebumps

-a chill

a few days later, lord toji arrives with a set of gifts like he occasionally does. he tends to bring ameera brushes and papers for her paintings, ingredients and herbs for mildred, and today he brought you a stunning pair of earrings.

"one of the townspeople gifted me this," he tells you, attempting to lessen the significance of this gift, thought it was partially a lie. he had saved the son of a baker and artisan from drowning one day. grateful for their child's wellbeing, they offered him anything in his shop, to which he humbly selected a pair of white gold earrings, encrusted with pearls, giving the illusion of the owner wearing flowers, handing from their 'white gold' leaves.

"you had to have done something," you find yourself whispering, crouching down in awe as you inspect the beautiful piece of jewlery in your hands. no one would have every spoken to him like this, but the chuckle emitting from his chest

"is it so hard to believe a young, handsome man like me would get gifts?" your eyes flicker to the hint of a smile spreading upon his features before you look down to the set of earrings and shrug. "don't know," you admit. who could have given him this? you think. surely a woman, right? gods were fairly popular with women so surely this was an everyday occurrence, or could it have been an old man from a shop...?

"you look like you don't like it."

"what?!" you flush, jump at his words as you're flushed and furiously shaking your head, "no, I love it! it's just..."

"you're wondering how I got such gift."

you nod, feeling your shoulders drop. he sighs, not exactly upset, but preferring to not have said anything.

"sometimes," he starts, "humans are appreciative of our good deeds they deem..."

"-you don't have to tell me," you feel slightly bad for this, "I... I'm grateful for this gift. even after everything you've done for me..."

"it's only a fraction after you've mend' my wounds."

"it's the least I could do." you reply back, a certain soften spoken assertivness he seems to admire and follow like a moth to a light.

Sometimes, I feel her.

When there's an impossible weight on my chest, crushing me. When I'm left vulnerable to wait on somebody. When I ask someone to come join me.

When I see others and get that feeling behind my eyes for seemingly no reason, and have to keep telling myself "calm down" or "it's fine".

Sometimes I can still hear her, the little girl inside with a smile too big for her face, eyes shining with the hope that- someone would stay and listen, talk.