the influence of alcohol beckons a wave of serenity that crashes onto a shore of consideration, only brought forth when she slips further into her cups. nerezza threnhold no longer keeps count of the number of goblets she refills since the affair began, somehow a measurement on its own account. the warlock enters a realm of concentration entirely unfounded in this state and reels anyone in heedless enough to answer her offer of conversation.

all factors of the circumstances direct her to the belief the stranger shares her elevated sensation.

does her mind wade upon the cosmos currently as well?

finally, her face produces a telling sign for him. slants of jadge arch together atop gilded pools bubbling in rumination. he already pens a tale before her digits reach for the quill and inkpot. “we are only different because i am here now, before i was even lower than whatever you consider squalor. the silver spoon sitting in my mouth came from my sweat, blood, and tears, or does such a tale not ring true to you?”

her body fluently speaks whatever language fax’s knows.