It's like chess to her. Her response had still been hooked to his; that assault he implied he would wind away at her; the truth that it was no more or less than the wind currently. Hers more of a hooked challenge, with too much of the answer already known, even unknowing of him more than stories and two interactions.
He doesn't add to it.
There's no song and dance. No antic caper. No manic smirk.
He stays in the dirt, tending to the gardens, and she waits. But it pauses there, and that's an odd enough impasse that she doesn't move. She wonders if he means it differently, infinitum, even in blink, imprisoned in two different cages, both not of his making. One of them far worse than the other, though no curiosity touches her on whether he had not well earned it.
Sabine only glanced down at her lap, where her book had ended up when he added those last three words. It would be a lie to say she agreed. But it would similarly be a lie to say she had never thought so at any point. But she doesn't love that it stirs up a first-fledgling trill of uncertainty in the cemented stillness of her untouched by him.
no subject
He doesn't add to it.
There's no song and dance.
No antic caper. No manic smirk.
He stays in the dirt, tending to the gardens, and she waits. But it pauses there, and that's an odd enough impasse that she doesn't move. She wonders if he means it differently, infinitum, even in blink, imprisoned in two different cages, both not of his making. One of them far worse than the other, though no curiosity touches her on whether he had not well earned it.
Sabine only glanced down at her lap, where her book had ended up when he added those last three words. It would be a lie to say she agreed. But it would similarly be a lie to say she had never thought so at any point. But she doesn't love that it stirs up a first-fledgling trill of uncertainty in the cemented stillness of her untouched by him.
"Do you think so?"