Bonesplinter Ravine who thought she was a nightingale

✹☾❂

 

Eleuthera was fully absorbed in her own woe, lamenting internally even as the tawny stranger spoke of forgiving herself. She knew she must — Séamus said the same exact thing. He was just as culpable as she, in so many things over and beyond this, and he just plodded ever forward to greet the future. Eleuthera was not like that. She was a gently suffering thing, and she felt the full force in a land so fully consumed by corpses. But this is what she wanted, right? Reckoning — that’s why she came back, wasn’t it?

Eleuthera let her lilac crown hang for only a moment longer before deeply inhaling and giving a long sigh. She looked at him over one willowed shoulder, her eyes heavy with the weight of her own expectations.

Her voice was hushed, afraid it might break again and she’d devolve to tears once more. She was not usually this way — so vulnerable — but there is something about this witcher that made her so. She cracked wide open at the easiest of his prodding. “They’re buried in the mountains. I keep thinking, if I go…” Her soft, sorrowful gaze flitted from the man to her side, to look somewhere past him, beyond. What did she hope for, if she went? Forgiveness? According to Scarab, she already had it. So, what more could be possibly want from it?

Her gaze snapped back to him. “Who are you?” she questioned, noticing that he had drifted closer than he was before. The man was a difficult book to read, and he already knew so much about her — would he allow the tables to turn? “A wiseman?” she further prompted, quite sure that, to this, he should reply yes.

So let’s just say this is before she pledges to SC!