Moonstone Quarry God looks on in abject apathy [m]

Her goal would have been to beckon him closer, be the siren song that so many things had been for her. Instead his gaze trailed away from her towards some indescribable thing far away. A sight that meant as much as ash to the lean beast. A spine upon which something rested that did not occupy the same space in her mind as it did his.

It would be a low, cooing based sound that escaped her frail throat. A plea for his attention to return to where she summoned it.

If she was blessed with the permission to, she aimed to weasel her way close enough to touch and be touched. She yearned to know what the trim man felt like. How the thickness of his coat might feel against the shortness of hers, what laid beneath said coat.