Don't Blink
10-01-2014, 04:48 PM
A bastard? He could hardly believe his ears, yet there she was, speaking to him as plain as day. The breath he had sucked in wooshed out of him, weakening his limbs. A bastard? She was... like him. Sort of. He didn't know what family she had come from or what she had been through since. She seemed so... joyful. But if her claims of 'they didn't like me' could be believed, knowing what he knew of their homeland, it can't have been pleasant. Yet there she was. His voice was urgent and harsh, tinged with disbelief. "I'm Lyonovei Nikolai Volkov, bastard of the King." The weight of this meeting sat on his shoulders like a boulder, crushing him, making it hard to breathe. What was she doing here? She seemed... happy enough he supposed, but... He couldn't shake the feeling. If she was an Old Ebony refugee, an outcast and a rebel and a refugee, they belonged together Not that he could see this overly-energetic puffball being all too useful, if her current state was anything to base his predictions on, but all the same. |
