He stands before her in emerald glory, his words akin to silk & honey on the tongue, echo in the mind like a soothing bell; & yet - his outstretched hand has her taking a retreating step backward. Caution is strong within her stance, cerulean gaze steady on him as though awaiting a moment of deceit, a moment of defense to be needed.
lies. he always told lies, did he not? he wasn’t known as silver tongue, liesmith for nothing. yet, his words are a truth that she only wishes to simply believe in. Treated as an equal, to be worked with side by side - not under a scope, or a blade, or the idea of being utilized for destruction. Yet. . .was that not perhaps what he wanted as well? to simply do the same as others before him?
His hand reaches out again, & this time she doesn’t retreat in caution - no, she’s almost. . .curious. Head canting a slight tilt as gaze flickers now from his hand to his features, trying to find some sort of distinction that can assist in her detecting lies in his words; a twitch of a lip, a shift in tone. Signs she’s seen in midgardians so recently in her travels, but. . .there’s nothing there to tell.
❝ - How do I know? How do I know you’re not. . . ❞