Shadowwyn Moor a stately pleasure dome decree

tasha's smile turns sickly sweet as the girl turns away with a scoff, beginning to clean herself instead. insolent brat. it is rude not to answer questions asked of you, qız, she remarks coldly, watching the child with gaze frosted over. did your parents not teach you manners?

she settles on her haunches gingerly, a moue of distaste flitting over her face at the feel of the muck. if you do not give me your name, i will give you one myself, tashkent muses, eyes dancing away to stare at their desolate surroundings. wrxïn, perhaps. it suits you fine. a cruel joke, but a funny one. she resists a laugh, waiting for the other to speak.