calling

i hope to live up to that expectation, then. but it is hard to see herself sitting atop a throne, regardless of the foundation it is built upon: might, bloodshed, or compassion.

racharra is silent then, contemplative of the future that she doesn't notice eset's gentle stroking of her shoulders as she musters something. the girl jerks back to reality with widened eyes when eset begins.

"there are going to be days where it is not fine."

..o-of course, i-.. she purses her lips. she'd never had to send messages. and — forgive her — the thought of retelling her deepermost thoughts and woes to legend for eset to then hear was something racharra would prefer not to imagine. messengers were for important things, not the wonderings and yearnings of a confused nebet. and dragging eset away from post felt wrong, too.

..i'll try. is all racharra can come up with.