Hideaway Strath Synapses Snap Back in Blissful Anguish

She leered over the puddle, unsure of what would be looking back at her. The water stilled, revealing something unsuspected. Her breath caught in her throat as the reflection cleared. A glimmering light consuming what previously had plagued her. Eyes bright, her tail swayed back and forth in an ecstatic manner.

"You .. you fixed it! It’s beautiful!" She exclaimed, whipping her head around to share a look of gratitude. Her icy gaze seemed softer. Almost like the morning sky during spring. It was as if he had read her perfectly. Golden dust brought out her fur. Seemingly made for her.

The scar she had been cursed with didn’t feel very menacing at all. Quite the contrary, actually. It was new and fun, similar to the young girl herself. He’d captured her exactly. The feeling was bizarre, to say the least.
"How could I ever repay you? Is something like that even possible after what you’ve done for me?" She questioned, looking back into the water. Astonishing.

'It is a rare thing, to be seen for all one truly is' His words suddenly popped into her head. Similar to the ripples in the puddle, it repeated itself. A rare thing — yet somehow, he had done it.. 

Not her mother, nor her littermates — perhaps not even her own self had been able to. But he had. What was funny about that? All it took was one glance at her flaws. 

Literally just audibly gasped I’m in shock. You captured her so well, she’s gorgeous!! Would it be possible to use as her new avatar? Credits included ofc!! If not, totally fine :)

The half-breed watched her reaction with a quiet, lingering satisfaction, the faint curl of a smile playing constantly at the edge of his mouth. The golden glimmer of her scar caught in the dim light, each tiny fleck of metallic dust gleaming softly, breathing a new warmth into her features. He allowed a moment to pass, letting her absorb the transformation fully, his gaze never wavering from her expression.

But when it came to the matter of repayment…Where a better man might have dismissed it with a wave and a casual “think nothing of it,” that would be a rare courtesy indeed for Machiavelli, especially in situations where passing up such opportunities might be a death sentence. Generosity, for him, was never without a thread of self-interest woven through. His intent had not been to barter, exactly, but there was a self-serving satisfaction in offering aid to someone who, in fleeting ways, reminded him of his younger self—someone he might help to change in ways he had long given up on.

He let the silence linger, eyes tracing her face one last time, the gilded scar catching what little light there was and glinting like a sliver of hidden fire. And then, his voice dropped to a rich murmur, probing yet gentle, as he leaned forward slightly.

Tell me, Zitari… where do you intend to go from here?