she  tilts  her  head  up  when  he  comes  closer ;  an  indulgent ,  easy  smile  on  her  features  showing  her  teeth .  a  toss  of  her  curls  over  her  shoulder ;    ❛     tell  me  all ,  would  you   ?      &    spare  no  detail   !    i  never  do  understand  the  matters  of  men  well  enough .      ❜     she   may  not  understand ,  but  she  likes  to  listen  to  him ;    CRAVES  TO  HEAR    the  softness  of  ones ’  voice .   she  extends  an  encouraging  hand  to  him ,  looking  for  touch . 

icarus:

apollo: really??? right in front of my salad???

“It is simply in the nature of our kind to be lonely, Mirek. You ought to know that better than myself.”

Conall shrugs, something like apathy on his face. He has gotten used to being lonely, certainly. He has loved, lost, and lost some more. Loneliness is…is it weakness? He’s not sure. As an empire, there is scarcely any time to ponder about these sort of mortal flaws.

“Loneliness…it’s something I don’t think about often, you know. Though I think it is better for everyone when I don’t.”

‘ Why should I know better? ‘ 

There’s biting cold in his voice now; none of the fire of his youth remains. Mirek is changed. Conall never will, he expects.

‘ It does not matter. You are - I think - right. ‘

He does not have the will in him to fight over this. Not with someone like Conall. In the past, perhaps, but then again he will never know. He adjusts his cufflinks and sighs with the bitterness of the lost.

‘ Not thinking about such things will not make them go away. ‘

This he is certain of. He is, after all, living proof - he will never truly forget the coldness of a blade or the choked silence between fits of coughing, will never be able to scrub his own blood from his skin. 

She swallowed, a fiery gaze still fixed on him. Then Mathilde’s couldn’t bear it any longer and looked down. Her voice was shaking, as she spoke, both of anger and emotion. 

“ You always did crave the taste of your own lies. ”

      ‘isn’t it convenient that the british happen to show up exactly when nobody seems to want them to?’

      he is tired, and well admits it. how long have they been prowling about each other? years. decades -- it isn’t as though he has the time or the patience to remember. they are too busy creating circles in the proverbial sand, drawing and erasing battle lines while amidst it all their people suffer. well, at least his do. he tends not to think about the englishmen who scatter china’s soil whenever they come to blows.

      ‘what is it this time? and spare me the pleasantries. I have a meeting to attend.’

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have about my muse