❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜ my bylsomas
most days, she doesn’t feel human — not even human-like. in her earliest years, the ones she can recall, at least — barely cresting jeralt’s hip / always looking up — it used to upset her: her big, unblinking eyes, and her sharp teeth, and her heavy, mace-like limbs, and her thick, syrupy, stubbornly unflowing blood, and the dead-made heart settled in the concave of her chest, and a dozen other details that made for perfectly adequate reasons to outcast her from other children.
the upset lessened the older she got, the more she honed her skills and sharpened her blade, a proper mercenary now — if it meant fighting alongside jeralt the blade breaker, the choice between being unkillable and being human in comparison was hardly much of a choice at all.
these days, she has fairly little to strive towards / her father is dead, and she’s less man than she ever was / but —- she does have soma. soma the girl-god, with their big eyes, and sharp teeth, and warm, familiar strangeness. soma, who, for some then-inexplicable reason, found her strangeness enticing.
soma, who, the very first time they met, in the maze-like overgrowth behind the church of seiros, called her pretty.
“i know.” she plucks at soma’s fingers in her lap — an idle, not-quite distracted gesture. before soma, she scarcely touched anyone like this; without intent, just for the sake of contact. she was always too self-conscious to, around people who actually mattered. “i will,” she promises, “just as soon as we wrap up here.” she returns soma’s hand as she moves to stand, gaze flitting from the still-empty horizon / counting each pair of enemy boots quickly drawing closer up the incline / to soma. she smiles.
“will you be patient for me?”
