( a flush follows the brushstrokes of his eyes on her, dripping pink down her bath-warmed skin, like a watercolor painting come to life. it's still baffling, alarmingly new to be looked at with any degree of heat, but she comes to life with it — not so much a preening as it is a shy basking in attention, ducking her head to smile at their bubbling bathwater. )

Except for me, apparently.

( the corner of her mouth twitches higher, a harmless tease at her own expense. she can't entirely blame them for keeping away; if she hadn't known the bite of a monster, she might think better of encroaching — because he does resemble a forcible king in stance, striking an imposing figure. not even water seem to be capable of softening the severe lines of his face, like an expression carved from hard marble. it feels like an accomplishment, then, when his mouth cracks into a smile for her, faint as it is. )

Our hosts don't much care for me already. I've the stench of something poor on me.

( it's bitterly wry, in its dismissiveness — the mark of someone pretending it's rolled right off of her feathers, unbothered by anyone's shallow, passing judgment. like she can sting herself first, before anyone else dares to do it for her. floating, she eases into the corner beside him, where it's fittingly sunlit. her chin tips up into its beams, with the natural affinity of a sunflower finding the sun. )

I'm not sure I have much more of their favor to lose, at this rate.