[From what he said, it sounds like she might even be able to make a bond like that herself, unlike the bonds that seem to mostly be performed at the Coven. It’s not that she feels that she has to hide the shadows — which she hasn’t, since Miss Nessie at least noticed almost immediately — but she prefers not to talk about them much. She tells herself it’s because they might make people from Aefenglom nervous, with the shadowy nature of the Cwyld, but it’s really that she likes it when the shadows are hers alone.
Even if she ends up needing Hubert’s help to make sure she gets it right, that would be fine. Even if she hasn’t bothered to mention them, it feels like her housemates would have more of a right to know about them.]
I wasn’t planning to select a rat. But why did —
[As Leslie stops in mid-sentence, there’s a soft thump from the book in her lap falling to the floor. Leslie herself shoots backwards in the chair from her initial position at the front of the chair to now being pressed up against its back with her legs curled in as closely as possible. Since the fire grew slowly and hasn’t reached a particularly large blaze, Leslie is able to keep herself from going over the arm rest and booking it out of the room, but she can’t stop her subconscious movement to put as much distance between herself and the fire possible.
It’s just a little fire. It’s barely more than a candle, and she can usually pretend to be okay around a single candle. Don’t make a fuss and don’t bother Marquis Vestra over something as small as this, she tries to tell herself, but at the moment, she can only manage staring at the fire from her huddled position, her expression not hiding her fear well enough for someone like Hubert.]
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Date: 2020-02-19 04:30 am (UTC)Even if she ends up needing Hubert’s help to make sure she gets it right, that would be fine. Even if she hasn’t bothered to mention them, it feels like her housemates would have more of a right to know about them.]
I wasn’t planning to select a rat. But why did —
[As Leslie stops in mid-sentence, there’s a soft thump from the book in her lap falling to the floor. Leslie herself shoots backwards in the chair from her initial position at the front of the chair to now being pressed up against its back with her legs curled in as closely as possible. Since the fire grew slowly and hasn’t reached a particularly large blaze, Leslie is able to keep herself from going over the arm rest and booking it out of the room, but she can’t stop her subconscious movement to put as much distance between herself and the fire possible.
It’s just a little fire. It’s barely more than a candle, and she can usually pretend to be okay around a single candle. Don’t make a fuss and don’t bother Marquis Vestra over something as small as this, she tries to tell herself, but at the moment, she can only manage staring at the fire from her huddled position, her expression not hiding her fear well enough for someone like Hubert.]