Behind the sweet, gentle voice is the murmur and sounds of a joyous gathering. A party, perhaps, not so dissimilar to the ball a few weeks ago.
He gives a hum of adoration. "How cute of you," he remarks. "If you're not having enough fun, then why don't we dance?"
His tone is soft enough, his words kind and inviting enough. But beneath the surface of the mellow, sunlit stream is a frigid, relentless undercurrent.
"Don't be shy. You could be man or woman, elderly or a dog, or even the Calamity itself—I'd still hold you in this dance like I loved no one else in this world."
His voice drops low.
"And then for one, wonderful moment, we'd share in the same passionate dream."
There's a rustle of fabric, and a pause.
"Your hand, dear Sage."
There comes a hesitant response, and he is surprised.
"Why not?"
An awkward laugh, an awkward excuse.
"But I want to dance with you."
Why?
He whispers again, smiles and sunlight over a barren tundra.
"Because I want you wrapped around my little finger."
His voice cools, flat.
"The sage acts as leader of our manor. And if I want you to do exactly what I want, then wouldn't making you fall in love with me be my quickest option? I'm inviting you to love—an act that opens up your heart to those you don't trust, even to those you despise."
He speaks casually, as though he calculates the traffic through a busy city.
no subject
Behind the sweet, gentle voice is the murmur and sounds of a joyous gathering. A party, perhaps, not so dissimilar to the ball a few weeks ago.
He gives a hum of adoration. "How cute of you," he remarks. "If you're not having enough fun, then why don't we dance?"
His tone is soft enough, his words kind and inviting enough. But beneath the surface of the mellow, sunlit stream is a frigid, relentless undercurrent.
"Don't be shy. You could be man or woman, elderly or a dog, or even the Calamity itself—I'd still hold you in this dance like I loved no one else in this world."
His voice drops low.
"And then for one, wonderful moment, we'd share in the same passionate dream."
There's a rustle of fabric, and a pause.
"Your hand, dear Sage."
There comes a hesitant response, and he is surprised.
"Why not?"
An awkward laugh, an awkward excuse.
"But I want to dance with you."
Why?
He whispers again, smiles and sunlight over a barren tundra.
"Because I want you wrapped around my little finger."
His voice cools, flat.
"The sage acts as leader of our manor. And if I want you to do exactly what I want, then wouldn't making you fall in love with me be my quickest option? I'm inviting you to love—an act that opens up your heart to those you don't trust, even to those you despise."
He speaks casually, as though he calculates the traffic through a busy city.
"So? Will you dance with me?" ]