Silver Moraine i am a result

her brother is an anchor, through and through. a reminder of things both lost and fiercely held onto. a small, dry laugh escapes her, bitter and knowing. "you always were a terrible liar," the scent of home lingers between them, sweet and sorrowful, and she inhales it like a comfort and a curse all at once.

when he assesses her—his eyes flicking over her with that sharp, scrutinizing gaze—she stands her ground, not moving an inch.

"one piece?" she repeats, her voice laced with dark humor, but her lips curl upward in a hint of a grin, sharp as ever. "i’m surprised you even recognize me."

she steps back slightly, giving him a slow once-over. "i’ve made my own way. and so have you, it seems,"