#set in act 3...

Rare was the opportunity to catch Shadowheart off-guard. She's normally so steadfast. Alert. Rigid, and shielding the softer parts of herself from those who wished to unfurl her. But Puck has proven himself a nasty influence time and time again. He often disarmed her. His presence enough to shed the hard chitin and reveal things she had thought she'd lost a long time ago.

Humor. Whimsy. Admiration. Affection.

She stood beside him, torn between a vial of powdered mandrake and a pouch of aged oleander. Quite the stubborn decision, for she only had such limited coin on hand. And even more limited time to wrap up this errand within Rivington's apothecary.

"We've had our hands full with quite a number of undead. Oleander would find its use one way or another. But then again …" Her voice hushed out, like the late summer's breeze. She never used to voice her thoughts out loud before she met Puck. She never used to do a lot of things.

"No, you're right, it'd be prudent to buy the flower." Puck hadn't said a word. "You're always right, of course." No he wasn't.

"That settles it. We'll go with the—"

She's not allowed another word. Not before tallied lips found its mark upon her skin. It took her breath away, even more so than a punch to her chest. Yet it felt so much softer.

One finger was brought up to touch her nose, reaffirming its memory in her heart.

"You know, there are more polite ways to tell me I'm rambling again." A smile, just faintly. "Best be careful, Puck. Everyone will think you're courting a Sharran."

With that, Shadowheart paused. Dusky eyebrows wove together, met with a crease. The cleric shook her head, strands of white falling over her cheek.

"No, I suppose that's not what I am anymore. Who I am. It's strange how so much has changed, and yet so often I feel like the same person I was before all this began." Gripping her arm, she brushed a thumb pad across her elbow, throat closing around a sigh.