#orianna.

nonverbal things to do with Khada Jhin / accepting.

    Jhin has her hand in his and they are dancing.

    Orianna is a memorial, he understands. Mister Corin Reveck is of some interest to his benefactors, though unlike the fate of so many to fall under such interest, tonight is not Corin Reveck’s last dance. Indeed, Jhin has been sent to protect him from another party entirely in an affair most unusual for the Golden Demon, not that he necessarily minds. If not Corin’s, it will be theirs, and theirs will be just as beautiful.

    He knows, because it’s already happened. Outside, a new tree is born, with roots like wax and bark like ivory. It has hands and eyes.

    “My dear, there’s no need to be tense,” Jhin says. “You won’t hurt me.”

    Steel and brass and clockwork and the legs of a ballerina. Nothing about Orianna is the same as Khada Jhin’s flesh and Khada Jhin’s blood, and that fascinates him. Her face is marvelous and real in ways that his is not unless there is the mask. In that way she’s almost aspirational, though he regrets that she can only dance in metronome.

    Imperfect, in the end. Orianna is not Khada Jhin’s.

    They dance for some time, until Jhin is certain that the tree outside has come to fully blossom. He lets go of her and excuses with a bow, well satisfied with the work. Will he see her again? Perhaps. Her father has made curious friends.

    “Good night, miss Reveck.”

    He escapes through the window.