Qhora sat on a bench in the Gold Court, staring intently into a steaming cup of something thick and black. When someone sat beside her, she shifted uncomfortably but didn't look up. There was a long silence. Finally, she said quietly, "Everyone thinks you're dead."
"I am."
At this, she looked up. "Right." She frowned at him. "They'll never forgive you."
He smiled back. "Who?"
"Any of them. Especially Sindl." She looked back into her cup, then took a slow sip.
"He'll live."
"They all will." She paused. "Except you?"
"Except me." He nodded.
"Why'd you do it?"
"Do what?"
She drew a finger across her throat, refusing to meet his gaze. "Please don't tell me it was a girl."
He laughed loud. The sound was harsh in her ears. "It's not that simple."
"But?"
"I didn't kill myself."
"Mm." There was another long silence during which he seemed perfectly comfortable and she felt like ants were crawling along her spine while she finished her drink. Cup empty at last, she sighed, then asked, "What do you want?"
"Tell him I'm sorry?"
"Tell him yourself."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
He grabbed her wrist, rough and unfriendly, forcing her to look up at him. "He can't see me."
She winced. His touch felt like a static shock without the instant release. "W-what?"
"But you. You're dead, too." He let go of her arm and stood up.
Her eyes went wide. She rubbed at her wrist where his fingers left pale marks against her dark skin. "If I am, he can still see me."
He smirked. "I know. It's not that simple."
"I'm not telling him anything for you," she muttered, scowling.
He shrugged. "Do you believe in the Twelve?"
"No. So what?"
He grinned, and she thought she saw poison in his expression. "They believe in you."
"Bullshit," she hissed, but he was already walking away.
"I am."
At this, she looked up. "Right." She frowned at him. "They'll never forgive you."
He smiled back. "Who?"
"Any of them. Especially Sindl." She looked back into her cup, then took a slow sip.
"He'll live."
"They all will." She paused. "Except you?"
"Except me." He nodded.
"Why'd you do it?"
"Do what?"
She drew a finger across her throat, refusing to meet his gaze. "Please don't tell me it was a girl."
He laughed loud. The sound was harsh in her ears. "It's not that simple."
"But?"
"I didn't kill myself."
"Mm." There was another long silence during which he seemed perfectly comfortable and she felt like ants were crawling along her spine while she finished her drink. Cup empty at last, she sighed, then asked, "What do you want?"
"Tell him I'm sorry?"
"Tell him yourself."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
He grabbed her wrist, rough and unfriendly, forcing her to look up at him. "He can't see me."
She winced. His touch felt like a static shock without the instant release. "W-what?"
"But you. You're dead, too." He let go of her arm and stood up.
Her eyes went wide. She rubbed at her wrist where his fingers left pale marks against her dark skin. "If I am, he can still see me."
He smirked. "I know. It's not that simple."
"I'm not telling him anything for you," she muttered, scowling.
He shrugged. "Do you believe in the Twelve?"
"No. So what?"
He grinned, and she thought she saw poison in his expression. "They believe in you."
"Bullshit," she hissed, but he was already walking away.
![[Image: g9ASfFg.jpg]](http://i.imgur.com/g9ASfFg.jpg)
