Porcupine Ridge I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

Lorcan listened, truly listened, and for a man so often lost in his own clever words and sharp wit, it was a rare thing. Envy spoke, her voice weaving a story that felt heavier than the space they occupied. He did not interrupt, nor did his usual smirk make an appearance. Instead, his golden eyes softened, steady on her face as she unraveled the threads of her history.

There was weight in her words, a ferocity beneath her casual tone, and it drew him in. He felt it in the way she spat her brother's name, in the way her words twisted with both resentment and longing. It stirred something primal within him, a quiet awe for her resilience, for the fire that burned behind those guilty red eyes.

When she spoke of their separation, of her guilt, his chest tightened, though he gave no outward sign of it. Instead, he leaned slightly closer, his presence grounding without being overbearing.

Sounds like the bastard earned his place, he murmured, voice low and even, though his gaze didn’t waver. And maybe... maybe you did too. Carrying what he couldn’t.

He let the words settle, careful not to press too hard, sensing the shift in her. The pause in her breath, the flicker in her gaze—it all spoke to the walls she was building back up. Lorcan knew better than to push further.

You’re here now, he said simply, with me, his voice carrying a rare sincerity. That counts for something.

Then, with a quiet hum, he leaned back ever so slightly, giving her the space she seemed to need, though his watchful eyes stayed fixed on her.