#sylcanis

Sylvie is quiet—not shy, but reserved—even as Spite bombards her with nonsense. Lucanis should stop the demon but… "You smell of roses and dew. Soft," Spite observes. He hovers far too close to her, bent so low over her where she sits at her desk that his nose almost touches the pale skin where neck meets shoulder. Lucanis does not allow himself to think about what it would feel like to press his lips to that spot. She hums. Offhanded but not dismissive. The way she almost always addresses the demon's queries. "It's rose water. The lotion I use after bathing is scented with it." "Taste sweet, too?" Before Lucanis can chastise him she begins laughing softly and the way Spite preens radiates through Lucanis' chest. Like petting a cat and feeling the vibrations of its purr. "Roses are sweet, yes." She glances at Lucanis. "I know tea is not your favorite, but would you be opposed to me making you a cup for Spite to try?" Lucanis' nod is reflexive. Perhaps a little overeager. He finds he would do anything she asks of him. The thought concerns him less and less by the day.

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Control

I admit, I am bias on your mistakenness of love. Because I understand. People like us know that love is a rare thing and so when we have it, we will do anything to keep it within our grasp. And what better way than to control it? If you can predict someone, shape them or influence them to love you so much, bordering on obsession, that they will never leave, then you are secure. You understand it as devotion, loyalty, an undying possession. But what you also need to understand is that love is not a gilded cage. How can you expect to be loved if you do not dare to loosen your claws enough to trust in their love? Because the real special kind of love, trusts without drawing blood.

This tracks for Maeve. But it's not that she doesn't trust Viago—because she does, maybe even more than she trusts herself—it's that she doesn't trust some circumstance she can't control won't fuck things up somehow.

Salvation

A pitiful case of mistaken identity indeed. You mistake love for being saved. For being carried away from the destruction and pain of your own life by arms that are steady and strong and oh so protective. You don’t understand that your life, though influenced by others, is still your life. How do you ever expect to really live if you cannot even stand on your own two feet? Love is a crutch not a wheelchair. It is not the salvation you think it is. If you are spared from every painful experience, what did you learn? Tell me. What did you gain? Love is not a rescue boat ready to lift you to safety. Love is a hand beside yours, steadying you as you learn to swim.

I'm still figuring out who Sylvie is, but this feels right. She technically died (for a few minutes) and was brought back by Maeve, then Lucanis goes on to save her life more than once. She was never even trained in even the most basic combat and is "helpless" in a way no one else around her is (while at the Lighthouse during Veilguard).