[ her voice, high and brisk like the wind, cuts through the unfamiliar noise of this realm.
he is drawn to her, as always. somehow, someway, something always leads him to her — less of a pull, and more like a string bound around his ankle, always nudging him into place.
jacopo stands behind her. his hair reaches down to his collarbone, but he is clothed in the tatters of a peasant. ]
I never took you for a teacher. [ a weak smile. ] Perhaps that was a mistake on my part.
feed me, seymour
he is drawn to her, as always. somehow, someway, something always leads him to her — less of a pull, and more like a string bound around his ankle, always nudging him into place.
jacopo stands behind her. his hair reaches down to his collarbone, but he is clothed in the tatters of a peasant. ]
I never took you for a teacher. [ a weak smile. ] Perhaps that was a mistake on my part.