Desreal: is it the square root of minus one? --

“ I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. ”

-- Yeats

Sense she has none; it’s written in the she smiles, roguishly almost, the way she folds under his wing uninvited, with such an ultimate trust in, well, the universe as a whole.

Which is ironic, considering she was nearly burnt to death not so long ago.

The lightning pulses between them like a reactor gone awry, on the verge of explosion, and she just smiles and smiles because she’s like that, that careless. Even if she moves slowly when she even does at all, with a precision so carefully trained it makes one think of shadows.

It’s almost like she’s begging someone to corrupt her, even though such a thing feels almost impossible.

“Mother doesn’t like me much,” she says. The thought doesn’t seem to bother her; she has always known her place, after all, and she has her twin, which is more than enough.

Doesn’t stop her from burrowing even closer to his body’s heat, anyway, enough that the scales prickle her recently healed skin. She doesn’t know who he is – not really – doesn’t know what he’s done or didn’t do. even if she did, there is a likelihood she would not mind it, or at least, that she would listen attentively enough.

Probably argue on the fine points of his lifetime’s phylosophy, knowing Joh.

“I don’t think so,” she shrugs a little, a fine tremor like someone dropping an unseen cloak. “I don’t like kingdoms all that much. Mother doesn’t either, but she makes do. I like Alkonost,” she smiles, then, thinking of her twin, and it’s like her entire body’s lightning is focused in the glow of her eyes. it doesn’t matter that her sister’s name slips in a complete non-sequitur. “How’s it like, not changing? I change all the time,” she blinks at the novel idea it presents to her, to be unchanging. “Not changing sounds... boring.”

She muses on while chewing on a piece of his slick, dark mane.

“ stormreaver ”
of night and light and half-light