Black Morass toward salvation

ione sees it, the flicker of displeasure that tightens the corners of his eyes, the subtle shift in his posture. she does not miss the way his nose twitches, how his expression, for just a breath of a moment, hardens like stone.

he does not approve.

but still, he embraces her, and she does not hesitate to return it, pressing into the familiarity of him. her brother—her blood. his scent is a balm against the weight she carries, a reminder of a time before. before the morass. before kovictus. before she became this.

you always do, she murmurs, voice low, knowing. he has always come for her, through the years, through the changes. through the men.

when she pulls back, her eyes search his face, the remnants of his smile, the tension beneath it. she exhales slowly. you disapprove, she states plainly, not a question but an observation. then, softer— but you are here.