#vinvicta

A gentleness unlike any other, delicate and meticulous is Victor's every move, as if she's made out of glass.

Vindicta would be hoping for him to not be so tense, it's not a matter of life and death, he's simply learning how to braid her hair. And yet he's so focused, sporting such a serious expression that she can't help but laugh.

A red flush would envelop Victor's cheeks and ears, thinking he messed up-- fumbling and apologizing.

Vindicta would need a moment to recollect her composure and apologize for laughing, he was doing great. She just couldn't help but laugh at how determined he seemed. By the time she'd finish explaining so would Victor be done, the fruits of his labor blossomed into a lovely braid with a nicely tied bow at the end to top it off.

Victor, in return, would ask if she could help patch up his stich work. A process that's meant to be gruesome and uncomfortable is being performed with such skill and precision you'd think she was dancing. The act of stitching back together a man made of mangled corpses was made to look like an art form and felt like a love letter. Every suture she put in felt like a tender kiss.

Both of them would be mostly silent, but not in an awkward way, it'd be a peaceful silence, comforting. Only being broken by Vindicta asking him if he was holding up alright or if something needed to be tighter. That silence would be a thing they'd both enjoy and often bask in.