#els really is one of the softest kindest souls alive but my god

[thanflowers]

        her eyes focus back on nathaniel's face, shrouded though it is in darkness. she stands silhouetted by the fireplace behind her, her own shadow cast long across the room to reach him. she does not react to his sarcasm except the slightest quirk at the corner of her mouth, the barest curling of her lips upward. she used to think he was funny, when she was small and he barely a teenager. they have not seen much of one another since then, so she does not really know the man standing before her. cannot be sure if he is truly making threats or not.

        so she shrugs, gesturing to the blades at her hips. “you can try.” killing her is far more difficult these days than it used to be. “perhaps you will even succeed where your father woefully failed. twice.” it is not the kindest thing to say, but if anyone can stretch her to the limits of such, of course it would be nathaniel howe. “and perhaps you will even make it out of here alive, again, after doing so.” she blinks slowly, then dares to turn her back on him, looking into the fire, though still alert for any sign of movement behind her. just in case. “but it won't make you feel any better.” her shoulders drop slightly. she speaks from experience.

why indeed. it's a question he's chewed the length of for days. four , in fact. what would've been five if he'd not simmered in the stew of it all , untouched and unfettered. been left to unpleasant thoughts and a reconsideration. not for her judgement , expected and unrepentant. but a question. one that , perhaps , would be best left unasked , but sat a rancid thing at the back of his tongue nevertheless. it'd grown legs enough to force his own. made shadow his company and , suspiciously , without his bow drawn and a call for blood shouting , an old home was easily enough infiltrated. nathaniel lacked naivety enough to think this unintentional. a trap ? an invitation ? one was no less curious than the other.

" and how very generous it was , your ladyship. " biting sarcasm aside , there was truth to his words. and that , in and of itself , was nagging. one more slight against his name ; her pity. " maybe i've returned to kill you. " no daggers in hand. no poison uncorked. from where he idles , there , in a corner barely licked by fire light , nathaniel is a man pestered , but placid.