some would say that berkut hadn’t ever had a heart. maybe, they’d been right, in a way, for she hadn’t resided within him. she’d a life of her own, choosing to dance among flora and fauna than within some grandiose ballroom full of chattering nobles. she’d been sweet, and understanding, and all that he could never be. not when it had mattered, not when her words had started to fall on deaf ears. now, there is nothing to make up for that emptiness. all he could dare hope for is something to bloom in its place. yet his world is particularly dull and even he is not ignorant enough to deny that he is to blame.
where berkut had been sent away, rinea had been allowed into this new kingdom with open arms. not so much a grievance as a fact, a relief. though it allows for more awkwardness than he’d prefer when their sanctimonious saint - king deigned to allow berkut reprieve from his camouflaged exile. what else could it be ? winding halls were bound to lead to unfortunate encounters when one turned a corner, and ---
“ --- ! ” berkut is quick to avoid even the possibility of a collision, lithely moving to the hall’s opposite side. it would not be incorrect to suggest that once he’d noticed whom he’d nearly stepped into --- how could he not, when she’s so unfamiliarly familiar --- that he’d contemplated speeding past without comment. but --- “ ah --- ” he dares not say her name. he avoids it. he fears that were he to do so, he’d taint it.
“ you are ... doing well, i presume ? ”
@exalten // for rinea !
