Lion Head Mesa girl with crimson nails has jesus 'round her neck

Her head bowed—a masculine voice questioned her now, and her gaze snapped upward, lilac settling to greenleaf, kissed with black—surprise written to her slender features as he all but assumed the man’s death before she had even spoke of it.

She swallowed—the grief on her features was real, despite the farce she maintained. Even more so when Toula’s voice whispered as a crack in the sandy air—the humidity for a moment stealing her breath.

She didn’t know if she could do this. This was a mistake.

“Injuries he had sustained defending the palace.” Her words were a whisper—her gaze wavering between both—a quiver tracing her thin limbs, threatening to give way. “He lays to rest in a forest of tall trees. An acorn is knit within the fur of his shoulder… the acceptance of our engagement. He was going to protect me.”

Long lashes cloaked her gaze as she glanced down—most of her words true.

Self preservation was something she firmly believed Germanicus might have commended her for.