Still Stiff || Harin&Morana
He was so handsome. Morana could have stared at him for weeks. And had been. But he looked better laying in the bed covered in various woven fabrics and mismatched pillows than he did in the liquid she had replicated of her own makers design. The blue ooze had hidden away the warmth of his skin, and had hidden the curls that surrounded his elegant sort of face. It had been necessary though, to perserve all of his beauty. A beauty she was begining to worry would start to evidently decay because he still wasn't hung
Harin did not seem hungry for anything she had tried to feed him. It was understandable he hadn't wanted the mush she had initially offered, when his jaw was still tense, but stranger when she'd bought curry from town and he hadn't wanted that. By now she had offered him steak, chicken, just pure blood in case he was vampiric in nature, the night before she had killed a rabbit and presented it to him not a few minutes later and still no hunger rose in him.
Morana wished she could set aside her worries on this but everyone needed something to sustain them. Life wasn't a free bargain, you didn't get to sustain it with nothing. She ate, though in truth it didn't ever taste as good as it once had, sure that the poison that had killed her or maybe the lightning that had resurrected her had fried her taste buds.
"I consulted with the cards," she informed him, leaning her temple against the wooden headboard draped with a warm burgundy tapestry covered in depictions of predatory birds. Though she had made herself comfortable in his presence, more so than maybe was appropriate as he still likely was confused by who she was, she only touched him to help him with his movements and never for her own desires. Even if she wanted to. "They insist that your lack of appetite shouldn't last much longer, which means I find something soon," she said, as though such information would be of comfort to the still healing man.
"Until I work it out though we should keep practicing other things," she persevered in her intentions. No one had helped her reform herself, but he had her and she was not going to allow him to return home potentially capable of hurting his mother, or, worse, unable to speak to her. It had already seemed to overwhelming watching him trying to communicate in the first few days and observing him being incapable. She remembered that frustration, how it had almost felt like her mouth was numb and her jaws wired in place, she had wanted to cry but only seemed to wail.
Hands shifting the material of her bright blue dress as her knee folded over the other, whole body poised towards him, dirt at the base of the hem and chemical stains around the wrists from her work she continued to offer him the warmest of her smiles. "We could try walking outside to the caravans while we practice enunciating our words? Or if you are feeling worn and wish to stay in bed we could practice numbers again?" It was always 'we' when it came to his recovery never 'you.' It was never all on him.
@harinscourge
