#like really!

She is not stupid. Or at least, there are some ways in which she's not, and now is their time to dimly shine. Nadasa’s hands linger moments longer than they must with the same painful sharpness as the empty spaces between her body and armour where none used to be. Empty spaces in her life where something could’ve been.  She has sworn off what-ifs more times than she has contemplated them, and each time they come back with vengeance. One hypothetical snowballs into a dozen, building a pathway between the current her and the one that had found out what Nadasa had to offer beyond a fleeting glance and thought.  A kiss on her cloak feels like a kindling thrown into the flame. There's no time to ask for a permission — no time to waste on pointless questions — as she turns around and reaches out to pull him closer. Her eyes linger on his lips, but mercy wins, and she decides to spare him the memory of kissing with an almost-corpse, getting on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his forehead instead.  “It’s not much,” she says, “but us wardens know that all in life is brief, don't we?” Nadasa looks back at her wide-eyed. He really is so pretty. Even more so when flustered — a sight she relishes for the first and last time in her life.  “Take care of Bellara for me,” she says. “Good care. Or I'll come back to haunt you.” “Ghilasara—” “Dareth shiral,” she interrupts him as she turns around, and for good measure adds: “Don’t follow me.” She knows he wouldn't dare; the fact he never did is what had led him to be how they are now.  Taint sings in her head, edges of its song pressing against the inside of her head like an animal aching for escape.  The only relief is knowing it will all soon be over.