Honeyed Pasture sworn before a light of knife's edge white

She does not expect his response, her expression both surprised and pleased. She has not yet put her finger on her feelings for Phocion despite the beginning stirrings of something beyond platonic, but even if she had, it is rare she gets a chance to indulge in being mischevious, having been tossed from one trial to another since stealing the breath from Beneath-Night's.

Poet rolls her shoulders, stretching out briefly as she pretends to consider his question with a degree of solemnity, her expression a lazy smirk. "Have you earned that..?" she teases, quirking an eyebrow up.