[ Kaevyn stays quiet for a long time, full of sorrow, irritated as well. The anger of a faerie, as petty as it is, is mighty and gluttonous, thinking of every single reason to turn back against the causer of its spite. How dare he, how dare he, how could he. Kaevyn tries to cook up new recipes for all the horrible poisons he would have Brandon drink before Qetzi sets him down, and the clink of the jar brings him back to reality.
With a glare, he watches her. There is little interest in what she's doing - surely nothing about humans should ever interest him again - but there's a quiet elegance, a beauty to it. There is no understanding of the intimacy of watching a witch undress and brush her hair. He sees what he sees, and that is what strikes him. As for everything that makes up the room around him, he will have to pay attention to it before he makes a proper note.
The glare has transformed to something without curiosity, only the eagerness to observe. But he is still sorrowful, and so his wings droop. ]
no subject
With a glare, he watches her. There is little interest in what she's doing - surely nothing about humans should ever interest him again - but there's a quiet elegance, a beauty to it. There is no understanding of the intimacy of watching a witch undress and brush her hair. He sees what he sees, and that is what strikes him. As for everything that makes up the room around him, he will have to pay attention to it before he makes a proper note.
The glare has transformed to something without curiosity, only the eagerness to observe. But he is still sorrowful, and so his wings droop. ]
Oh, what a fate. What a terrible fate...