#ch: aurora d'cannith

[thetrevisostabber]

1, 5, and 14 for both connor and aurora? (said so so so innocently, with a big smile on my face)

What memory would your OC rather just forget?

connor Can't Forget Things. if she forgets she did not learn, so she will take the pain and bear it. she would be much, much more upset over not remembering. aurora on the other hand would trade the day she found out her brother was stealing from her, because it hurt her real bad and is a significant contributor to why she is like this.

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

connor will go to some extent- she's not willing to enact violence on others but she has other tools in her arsenal and will lie her way to victory. aurora will cross any line for any reason don't ask her she's already doing it.

How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

connor wants to be seen as not only reliable but as a beacon of hope. aurora wants to be seen as Unassailable and cold.

[thetrevisostabber]

well this one undid me a little and therefore i went insane about it all.

[thetrevisostabber]

2, 5, and 10!!

whiniest bitch:

this award goes to eirvalos who truly cannot live without like. a feathery down pillow and a memory foam mattress and access to like, gold-flake caviar, which has made his current stint in the vast hiding underground while severely injured and scavenging for food at night and from bugs! unbearably difficult! but no one is around to hear him complain, so.

oc magazine's sexiest man alive:

drake ramos. he's a 6'0" bear with long beautiful hair and a kind heart and great tits. he has a Beauty Routine and some of it involves chopping wood shirtless. he built his own home with his bare hands. he went back into the mourning to try and find his family and adopted a tiny telepath on the way. if i didn't give him this award all my mutuals into men would have every right to kill me where i stand.

best kiss:

look me in the eyes. aurora wins this race by sheer force of will and because she is more assertive and has more experience than connor and that is the ONLY thing giving her first place. he is very autistic but also weirdly intuitive when it comes to physicality and that makes the awkward fifteen seconds before she goes in for it and makes you feel like all her focus has been narrowed down to you, her whole world, worth it.

[thetrevisostabber]

Emmerine for Aurora…

i'm really normal about this one kate.

[thetrevisostabber]

meetcute. aurora/ripley. 2.4k.

it was high time time i actually Wrote Out how these two met properly, because bone and i talked about it fucking forever ago at the start of the game and it's been referenced in-game a few times and i think they're cute. so here they are. in all their astoundingly stupid in love glory.

Olladra Smiles is an intimate venue. Showgoers had whispered about it with excitement, how rare it was to see such a prolific artist in such a small crowd, in a tavern, no less. Aurora's seen the violinist once before on a much larger stage in a tightly-pressed crowd that had given a standing ovation when their performance ended, greeted them briefly before they'd had to entertain the press; she's inclined to agree.

It's been her weekly indulgence for months now. There's something about the way the music rings through the air and the unrefined beauty of an improvised piece that keeps her coming back. And this performer—Ripley, she recalls, was the name in lights—has honed their craft to a science. Their masked face betrays nothing; the light, the environment, the cascading notes and atmospheric illusions—there's tenderness in every note. The nature of a performer is one that confounds Aurora. It demands both separation from and intimacy with the audience she can't fathom.

The Phiarlan performer winds the illusion around her mind so thoroughly she can almost feel the sea breeze whipping through her hair, the vaguely uncomfortable seat and smell of paper and smoke fading away with every pass of the bow on rosined strings. Each note rings cold on her skin. Soft light fills the space, brightening slowly in shades of orange and purple and rich green.

All of the colors fall away under the warmth of sudden brown as they make eye contact with her for a second. Just a second, a single spinning second in the spans of time that have passed over the ages of Eberron.

Right! Aurora thinks, watching Ripley spin on their orbit—is there a smile under the mask, or is that wishful thinking? I'm a lesbian. _

"That last one you performed. It's a beautiful piece. Did you write it?"

Ripley perks up at her voice, an ear twitching in her direction as they notice her stepping towards the stage doors.

"I did!" they say, putting a hand to their chest in what's clearly a very self-satisfied gesture. "It's new! And untitled. May I be so bold as to ask how it made you feel? I'm immune to my own illusions, you see. The audience's perspective means everything to a performer."

"I'm afraid I'm not much of a wordsmith." She steps forward when she doesn't at least outwardly detect them being too tired to deal with a fan; she loosens her tie a bit to show her dragonmark under her shirt collar. "I'm better with my hands."

Both of their pointed ears perk up. Their sudden rush almost takes Aurora by surprise; Ripley catches and spins the sudden burst of excitement into a tempered delivery, scooping their violin up from its case inside the stage door to press into her hands.

"Then what do you feel, holding this in those clever hands of yours?"

Aurora's heart pounds nearly out of her chest.

"Well," she stammers. She's not hiding how flustered they've made her very well, she knows, but she applies her eye and mark's magic to the violin anyway; it's intricately carved, enchanted with some of the illusion magic Aurora had detected back on the stage bursting into the crowd. "I'm not a musical expert but the craftsmanship... it's exquisite. With a mind like yours and an instrument like this there was attention paid to every note."

Ripley's ears are red when she looks back up.

"Something enchanting about it," Aurora adds as she hands it back over to them. Their hands brush on the exchange. Oh, Host. "I'm sorry, I don't think I've introduced myself and here I've seen your name in lights. Aurora d'Cannith. I've been indulging in your performances after work for a couple of weeks now."

"Yes, I remember you from the other night! Though I never caught a name. Wonderful that we've rectified the situation. Fostering interhouse relationships is so important, don't you think?"

The excuse to touch again is barely concealed and Ripley takes it with zest in a firm handshake. Their eyes are so warm behind the mask.

"It's been lovely to perform for you, Aurora," they continue. "Will you be attending tomorrow night's performance? Tonight was so quick and loose because technically you're not getting the full piece—the debut is taking place in the Wynarn Institute of Art at 6:30. I could comp your ticket, of course."

Aurora has at least two projects due at 6. "I'd love to, Lady Phiarlan. I can't wait to hear what it sounds like when you deem it complete."

"It's complete with a title!" They pluck the bow from the case, testing a note. "You always leave me feeling inspired."

A few measures of the illusion hum into existence around them both. Aurora tilts her head back to look up at it, suddenly rich with detail; clouds come down by the stage doors, sheets of cascading light wrapping around the two of them and twisting through their atmosphere.

"And the title?" Her smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

"Aurora," they reply. "I've seen it, once, on Farlnen. It took my breath away then. It must have been the inspiration that led me to write it all along."

And there they are again. Dazzling brown eyes cutting through the light show and through to Aurora's core, turning it to warmth.

"Are you busy after the show, Lady Phiarlan?"

"Who, me?" they ask, shimmying a little.

"Yes, you," she laughs. "You're comping my ticket to a debut performance of yours. Let me buy you dinner. Interhouse relationships, and all that."

"Oh, please. This kind of magic always leaves me hungry after." They tilt their face down a bit, angling their gaze. "Promise not to run away when I take the mask off?"

"Lady Phiarlan! I'm not that rude," she gasps—the rhythm of mock offense and exaggeration is easy with someone she only properly met minutes ago, somehow. "I may not be one of your stage tramps but I can be a decent person."

"That is a rare thing in the middle of a war, such as we are. Let me appreciate you for it."

In a conversation laden with unspoken meaning—was this how all the excoriates did it, she wonders, playing with fire, and then crosses the notion from her mind—Aurora is still a little nervous stepping closer into their personal bubble. Ripley's pupils dilate just a bit, ears twitching towards her again, every movement betraying fascination. She hopes. Dearly.

"In that case," she says softly, heart racing, "can I interest you in more privacy than a table for two for dinner tomorrow?"

It takes a moment to realize Ripley has taken her metal hand in their gloved one, bringing it to their mouth and leaving a streak of black lipstick against the metal.

"I'd be delighted. Just let me take you for breakfast in the morning."

_

Aurora waits until they've been in the hotel room about half an hour before letting the spell slip over her and following their path into the building. She's been in here a thousand times; this time her heart is pounding in her throat as she passes by numbered doors and through the hallway silence.

Ripley's song is still playing in her head with each step she takes. Their words swim over her—It's complete with a title!You always leave me feeling inspired.

She nearly walks right into one of the hotel staff—Ghallanda, she thinks, and almost panics before remembering she'd picked this hotel for its apparent lack of dragonmarked affiliations—and sputters a thousand apologies before continuing onward into the elevator. This time Aurora waits until the doors shut and leave her alone within to sit with her thoughts. The way their song had sounded last night—they had been beautiful in tonight's performance, the illusion refined and the song performed with bravado, but the intimacy of the one-on-one performance the night prior.

Though with how their eyes had locked the entire night, everyone else in the building could have left and she would never have noticed. Still warm, still steady, still bright in their collaborative mischievousness.

The doors opening knock her from the reverie, and she sets off down the hall with her heart beating in her throat. She'd seen the beginnings of a cast party taking place when she'd slipped the room key into their hand. Their smile was contagious every time she'd met them at the stage doors, but tonight there was something knowing that passed between the two, and the look in their eyes beneath that mask had only made her pulse race.

This kind of magic always leaves me hungry after, their memory teases in her ear.

Aurora nearly drops the key when she tries to slip into the room.

Curses fall from under her breath getting the door open. "Sorry," she says quietly once she's stepped in and dropped her disguise, turning and shutting the door behind herself the second she's over the threshold, "it took a little for the group by the front doorway to disperse and I thought coming in the side would have been—"

Hands around her waist interrupt her train of thought, and she follows their direction, spinning around until she's face-to-face with Ripley's gaze focused on her through the mask. She's never been this close to them before. It knocks all the explanations and words from her head.

"You're here," they say, voice smooth and cool. "That's what matters."

And then Ripley kisses her, and Aurora forgets anything she could have been thinking to grab them around their waist and pull them in so tight they breathe in tandem. Her back thumps against the doorframe and her hands move to tangle in their hair, messing up the calculated puff and curl; Ripley hums into her mouth, and she finds she likes the sound even more than anything they write.

"Dinner?" they ask against her jaw.

"Later," she says, hand inching below their belt. "I had something else I wanted to do first. May I—?"

Ripley's smiling when they kiss her neck. "The floor is yours, Lady Cannith."

The smile in return spreading across her face continues its course as she pushes them back by the chest into the room. She takes quick inventory—a queen bed, a table off in the corner, a dresser and a door likely leading to the bathroom—and continues to back them into the room until the back of their knees hit the bed and they go down with a look both dazed and wanting. Ripley's more disheveled than Aurora's ever seen them, black lipstick smeared, fine golden glitter falling like snow from their cheeks onto the fabric of their blouse.

Aurora clambers into their lap and wraps a gentle hand in the back of their hair, waiting for the nod before she tugs their hair back and kisses them again. Ripley keeps their hands back to prop themself up on the bed, but when they press forward for more she pulls back, a teasing smile taking over her face.

"Let me see you," she says. "Without this," she adds with a tap of her finger against the mask.

Their expression shifts, slightly, and Aurora kisses the corner of their mouth.

"I promised to be polite," she adds. The mask was always on whenever she'd seen them; she recalls their comment about not running and wonders who's been enough of an ingrate to leave them nervous. "I meant it. You can leave it on, if you want, jus—"

"No," they say. Something trembles through their spine delicately as they watch her lips unabashedly. "Do it."

Aurora reaches for the bow at the back of their head and tugs the tension from the ribbon until it falls slack in her fingers, gravity keeping the mask on their face; she waits a moment, treasuring how this feels right now, the moment of curiosity about this gorgeous person that is about to be sated, the wondering before the answer comes—and then lifts the mask free.

Ripley's eyes open slowly up at her. There's makeup here, too, bright peacock-green colors and bright blue swirls that are starting to mess a little from the sweat and spotlight and constant contact against the porcelain mask; Aurora's taken with their sweet, dark eyes again, warm brown peering up at her. But all the makeup in the world cannot hide their dragonmark. It almost ripples, alive, under their skin, the Mark of Shadow over their left eye.

"Oh," Aurora sighs. "Oh, Ripley, you're beautiful."

And just like that, she feels some of the tension in their shoulders fall away as they surge forward and kiss her.

_

"You didn't know my name until last night."

"No," Ripley says in a puff of smoke. They're curled up against her bare chest, turning their head just a bit to look at her with a cigarette carefully balanced in their fingers to keep from getting ash on the sheets—they keep moving like they're accounting for the mask until they remember themself. "I'm sorry. I would have asked before if—"

"No, no, not like that," she says. "I'm not accusing. I'm just... I'm curious, frankly."

They turn around and face her, stretching to put the cigarette on the night table. Aurora's hand intercepts theirs to take a drag; the handover is unspoken as she inhales deeply. "About what?"

Aurora coughs a bit around her answer, stretching for the ashtray; Ripley guides her hand to it. "I mean, do you always sleep with people you've just met?"

"Not typically," they say. "My encounters tend to be more... premeditated. You're a first in multiple regards."

"In what ways?"

"Not so premeditated . And not a cis man," Ripley says. "Is that okay?"

Aurora cups their jaw in her palm, even if she's suddenly thinking of how much more slowly she'd have gone if she knew. "Of course it is. I'm not judging you, I swear. It just makes me even more curious why your random lesbian and or bisexual encounter was with me."

Ripley watches her with an expression she can't name, for a moment. "You spoke to me like a person. Most people who find me, they're talking to the stories." They lean their head into her hand. "I'm not... seen very often."

"There's an engineer behind every creation. More people ought to be looking."

Their smile is gentle, this time. "Yeah, I bet you wanna engineer my. Hm. Creation."

"Baby, I'll get into your Creation Forge," she replies, dropping her voice a couple octaves, and Ripley laughs with delight, voice quiet enough not to get caught.

"Dinner?" they ask.

"Sure," she says, kissing their forehead.

[thetrevisostabber]

oc awards 7 and 12 for $600 please

outstanding plot fucker upper:

AURORA LMAOOO. aurora and ario sidestepped the plot so heavily that we shortcutted to the end fight of the arc we're in. also she is constantly going "hey can i crash through this window and avoid my problems"

best costume design:

answered!

[thetrevisostabber]

1 and 13 for the OC awards! :)

best supporting/side character:

gotta be becket. beckyboy my cringe son. he's a lot more insightful than he lets on and that's come up when i've gotten to put him at the table with parties; he's good at moving conversations in the best direction for everyone involved and it's a sometimes-weird skill to have as a deneith but hugely beneficial in his life semi-divorced from the house.

best playlist:

aurorasweep. not even necessarily for Quality of songs (there's more than a few artists in there i don't typically listen to. i have hayloft on there and i write ESSAYS about why that song is misused lmao) but in terms of why each song is there, i feel like each was picked well and that as a whole the playlist is telling the story i want it to best.

[thetrevisostabber]

Aurora: 2, 20, 30, 35

Do they have any titles? How did they get them?

LITERALLY STEWING OVER THIS RN BECAUSE HER GRANDPA'S BARON TITLE IS THE GORGON. right now i'm trying to make it Thematic to her ascent to power which involved claiming to be the prophet of a sovereign and use of her ferrokinesis, so current competitors are God-Touched, Forge-Blessed and Ironheart, but none of those are really vibing with what i want for her SO

Do they like musicals? Music in general? What do they do when they’re favourite song comes?

he would say some cornball shit about only really liking musicals and the finer arts after meeting ripley but that would be a sweet voiced LIE, aurora has loved watching the performing arts for a long time and music was an active aid to his focus before she got medicated

Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out?

literally has never exercised and will never exercise even though it would quite frankly help her with all her excess energy lmao.

What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?

aurora is not the type to be guilty about his pleasures frankly and does not feel guilt for feeling good (yet). i stewed here for a good five minutes but she's nearly impossible to shame in this regard.

[thetrevisostabber]

[thetrevisostabber]

weak nerd artificer coming to a table near you

[thetrevisostabber]

aurora d’cannith moodboard

[thetrevisostabber]

ironsong. ario/aurora/ripley. 516 words.

i wrote this a while ago when aurora did some harebrained combat shit and finally started fucking with her siberys mark/magic plague along with it. ario d'vadalis is the other player in my game, @childofeberron, who has been uh. EXPERIMENTED ON A LOT by their mother and at this point is part dragon! as have both of ario's brothers, with ario being the most successful experiment out of the three and orris ending up as a freaky draconic false hydra. we're a powerhouse party that does heavy damage but when we start going down it gets dangerous and... well. maybe aurora has a little crush she isn't analyzing yet.

The words sink into Aurora's chest with a sickening weight right as Orris' teeth sink into Ario's.

"This is what you get for doing this to me-"

And gods, Ario, Ario with the hesitant words and the warm, steady hands, blue fingertips and claws, lightning crackling between their teeth- something hits a crescendo in her head, watching blood seep from between Orris' jaws and hearing the sickening crunch of bone.

Ario goes limp.

She's barely standing. The blood is rushing into her head, all that movement and ironsong- Ripley's melody doesn't falter in her ears, just around the corner, but that song- all around, and up, and down, and branching over and around her again, making her blood run out silvery and wrong.

Every crevice in this building is made of fucking metal. She can feel it. She can feel it the way she feels her blood vessels and nerve endings.

Aurora understands what he's doing before he brings the doorframe crushing down onto Orris' neck. The metal bends under her will as easily as moving her arm. And the hydra, he looks at her for a flash of a moment; that grin is all knives twisting in her brain, trying to bore out Ripley, to bore out Ario, brushing over the hole where-

It takes her a second to realize she's screaming over the sound of cracking bone and crushing windpipe. By the time she has, Orris' neck is a mangled conglomerate of blood and viscera, caught in her makeshift guillotine.

She's already bending the doorframe back into place when his knees hit the ground by Ario. His armor kicks into gear, mechanics whirring with the effort it takes to wrench the hydra's jaws open and pull Ario into his arms. They collapse in her lap, pale, breathing shallow and frantic, blood dripping against Aurora's body.

"Ario, hold on, wake up-"

Starrin, she thinks. Starrin will know what to do. His steady gaze and tapping fingers, but- Aurora remembers with a twist that House Cannith will ask for the bloody, beating heart from her chest without a moment of hesitation, and Vadalis has already asked worse of Ario. Would Starrin send them back to the Kennels to bring them healing? Into their mother's care?

Because the touch of a mother is so healing, right?

No, she can't trust Starrin, can't trust Mabyn d'Vadalis, not Lady Seryan; she can trust herself- but her healing is tapped, and the Protector cannon isn't stitching their wounds closed.

"Fuck," she whispers, brushing sweaty hair from their eyes, and his armor shifts into gear again as she lifts Ario off the ground and into her arms.

Because the entire world can let her down, and everyone in it can ignore his pain and let him curse on the ground, but even caught lying, even with their darkest truths and the knife in the drawer laid bare for her to see, there is one person in the world she can trust with her life.

And that's who sends him into the pitch, unnatural black, Mabar wrapping around her mind.

Ripley d'Phiarlan.

[thetrevisostabber]

8 14 18 for aurora!!

What will always make them smile? What will always make them cry?

hard to Guarantee for sure because aurora's got some autism going on and will forget to react visibly to things on occasion BUT. you can usually get a smile out of him with a genuine and thoughtful compliment. crying is a LOT harder to get aurora to do but she has been seen crying at the puppy adoption ads.

Choose an AU you think would be interesting for them to be a part of. Who would they be?

i think aurora would be incredibly interesting in a pacific rim au as a jaeger tech. aurora is not physically fit enough to be a pilot nor is she capable but please imagine you are a cool pilot and you see this tiny, furious butch dangling from the helmet of your jaeger and yelling about things. wouldn't YOU want to know more.

How has their hair changed over time? What is their favorite hairstyle?

I HAVE PUT A LOT OF THOUGHT INTO THIS!!! aurora's hair if it was properly taken care of is about a 3a, but no one ever taught her and it was too "frizzy" for her extremely uninvolved father to take care of as a child so it was just kept short for a long time. he grew it out over her teen years in fury and then shaved it into chelsea bangs after a Fun Breakdown in dread metrol! so far the chelsea bangs are her favorite.

[thetrevisostabber]

[thetrevisostabber]

take your hammer, take your anvil, take your very soul

1k, aurora & jorlanna, dread metrol

prior to the events of dread metrol. the dynamic between these two is always so *chef's kiss* with aurora getting excoriated for the same thing that made jorlanna disappear completely from the public eye for years, and i personally love writing aurora getting yelled at. context: aurora has regular check-ins with cannith to make sure she's not getting up to anything stupid or house-disgracing in her excoriation. usually, she's up to both.

"I've been told by a certain source that you were seen out with Corporal Dubois' wife."

"Sure? We knew each other back during secondary education. What, can't I have friends, or is Cannith allergic to that, too?"

"Out with her in a romantic capacity when she is a married mother of two."

Aurora shrugs. "Yeah, sure. I'm helping the woman have an affair. But even you have to recognize this is better than me fucking a Thuranni or something, Jorlanna."

The Baroness of Cannith West peers over her half-moon lenses at Aurora. Any snip about being addressed by the correct title has already been said and ignored; it's apparently easier to drop it than try and make Aurora fall in line.

"But you must recognize the need for subtlety, and a duty not to shame the House."

"Nah, my duty to the House ended when you gave me the boot." Aurora slings a leg over the armrest of her chair, manspreading on a new level, observing the office with exhaustion. Jorlanna's a fan of ships in bottles, historical and non-functional models of old rifles, stylistic paintings he can't identify; his heel taps against the corner of the cherrywood desk. "Anything I can offer now is a favor. Since. Y'know. I'm not a d'Cannith legally anymore. It's not my House."

Jorlanna isn't impressed. "Which hasn't stopped you from using the name regardless of it being stricken from your legal records, has it."

He shrugs. "Force of habit." A lie.

"Regardless of whether or not you owe House Cannith anything, Aurora." Jorlanna's tone sharpens, pen clicking as she fiddles. "You owe it to Mrs. Dubois to be subtle. The Corporal could draw the wrong kind of conclusion from the relationship between you two."

"With all due respect to Aundair's army, which is none, Stuart couldn't see his own dick in front of his eyes."

Her expression remains unchanged, pen clicking away. "Be that as it may, it only takes one informant."

"And it only takes me to thank Stu for his service by getting up in her cervix."

Jorlanna sputters, icy demeanor cracking as she laughs into her hand, the pen silenced. Despite their now four years of back-and-forth antagonism, Aurora feels a little glow of pride in her chest; even for many years before he would have carried that for weeks.

Now, well- she's the executioner and the petitioner staying her own hand. Aurora feels no gratitude as the one on the chopping block, not even considering that Jorlanna is the woman who took Aurora seriously, gave her the necessary recommendations to get her visa to enter Cyre during the war. That died a long time ago. But Aurora can respect the cutthroat in Jorlanna. There's no other way to survive in Cannith, let alone with Merrix and Zorlan as siblings vying for the title of Baron. She is a creature of necessity borne of the House's unending competitive streak.

Aurora wonders if her mother was anything like her cousin Jorlanna as the Baroness drops the pen into a carved wooden cup on her desk, still smiling.

"By the Host, Aurora, stop making me laugh," she says. "I am disciplining you."

"No, I'm fucking hilarious and will not consider it." Aurora crosses his arms. "And it's only a problem if you let a money-grabbing outsider to the House make it a problem."

"Show your father slightly more respect," Jorlanna admonishes. It's enough to make Aurora snort in turn. "I have done a great deal to protect you from the consequences of your actions, but even I can't quell the power of rumor."

"If you'd let that Phiarlan stick around then I wouldn't need you to."

"Aurora Odette."

The entire mood of the room changes as soon as it's out of his mouth, but Aurora sticks to her guns, stares Jorlanna's sudden anger in the eye regardless, arms crossing tighter to his chest. It's true, regardless of how far it is, but bringing up the past- Ripley- is the quickest way to make any meeting with her end in a two-way screaming match.

"I cannot hide rumors that you are a rogue asset that House Cannith is improperly, nepotically favouring rather than removing from service like a malfunctioning firearm." The air between them is hostile and heavy with what's implied, Jorlanna's arms bearing her weight as she leans close and low to try and close their distance.

"Then remove me." She settles back in her seat, unblinking. "What's the big fucking deal, Jorlanna? Do you hesitate like this with all the other excoriates, or just the ones you like?"

"The deal is that I think it would be a shame if you were killed, Aurora."

"Then let Cannith suffer the briefer shame of my death instead of continuing with my disgraceful existence. You won't." Aurora leans in now, uncrossing her arms to lean across the desk back at Jorlanna. "If you wanted me dead you'd have done it on the Day of Mourning. And you didn't do it then, when I was blatantly breaking the Twelve's rules. You're sure as fuck not going to do it now while I help a low-ranking corporal's wife have some fun. No. You want me alive. Why?"

Silence hangs heavy as they lock eyes. Jorlanna looks like she might headbutt Aurora for a moment, eyebrows drawn tightly together.

"You know the risks you're taking." Her voice is icy, but this closely, Aurora can see her concealer hiding the dark circles under her eyes doesn't stand up to scrutiny. "Show discretion. And get the hell out of my office."

He's never going to know why. Aurora white-knuckles the side of the desk. There is too much about House Cannith that she is never going to get an answer to, and he's known that for years, but sometimes he butts right up against the edges of what she's allowed to know and someone is mad at her for having seen the edges themselves and Aurora could go after this house and dismantle it brick by brick sometimes with the anger that bubbles up in her chest.

She settles instead for nicking the pen out of Jorlanna's cup.

"With pleasure, Baroness."