#&̲. set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell. — sophie bone / ic.

[cr1msonpeak]

[ Truth is, I’m not handling it very well. Max Mayfield to Sophie Bone. ]

The centuries hardened her beyond measure, but the sight, the speech of young Max was truly worth the indescribable heartache. She liked to think she walked through life with a certain dignity and grace, but upon witnessing the nature of @acceptedrisk, someone centuries younger than she, it forced Sophie to gravely reconsider. Where her commonly harsh tongue would throw stones and cast great judgement, her face instead resembled something one might call soft… which wasn't too inviting compared to usual standards, just a tad gentler, not so cemented. Rooted in her inheritance was her father's sharp tone and calloused soul, but more importantly, the blessing of her mother's good heart was passed down. She was soft with Max, in the way she's tender with little Jane, but never does she lie to them, not even to protect. ‘ I am afraid it takes quite some time to... adjust, ma chérie; if you even will is still a mystery. 'Tis not a simple thing, nor shall it ever be. Change is très difficile, no matter the circumstance. ’ And death was a dire one, indeed.

Lady Bone reached forth— there's so much tension inside her, to the extent where the elder can feel it, taste it in the air. She'd existed in ruins from the cradle to cremation, but at least now she's been given the children she was seemingly unworthy of back in her own time. Despite sorrows' desperate attempt to smother her completely, the familiar sight of sheer innocence is enough to reel back, resuscitating a long murdered heart. The eyes once vacant and smile feigned, replaced with a determined fixation, a role denied before the earth claimed her to rot. Sophie's fingers lingered in max's hair; even after it was tucked neatly behind her ear, the hand remained persistent.

‘ You do not have to handle anything, child. We all must grieve for what we have lost, and no one here expects any less. ’ (I know it's bad when you look outside, but bad people no longer live in our home!) Index finger and thumb move to gently pinch Max's chin, drawing up her head, assuring she was listening, eye contact fiercely consistent. Words lapped with a hint of venom on the lips, although deeply contradicted by the flesh touch still gentle. ‘ Do you understand? ’