( it's a quick, unsubtle disappearing act — an amateur illusionist, trying to scramble to put a magician's rabbit back into a hat. alina's light absconds like a snuffed candle, there and gone in a single breath, as she stumbles back from the hedge in one sweeping step. disappointingly, all she's earned for her trouble is a pricked palm and a frantic pulse in her chest, pivoting to face koby with clammy palms.

koby, who never relents once he's gotten a scent, a hound with a bone in his mouth. of course he would be the one to find her, as if sniffing out a secret in the air. alina's smile shakes at the edges before it slips into some measure of a mask, though there's a hawkish sharpness to her stare. perceptive, watchful, focused on the creases of koby's face. it doesn't matter how puppyish koby has always looked, soft and big-eyed — she's seen even the gentlest faces warp themselves with cruel judgement, when looking upon her. )

Well, I found you. That has to be a stroke of good fortune. ( she does not, in fact, feel lucky — but there's something to be said for misery loving company. of not being entirely trapped with just herself for company, terrible as she feels for finding some sliver of comfort in it. painfully honest, she admits, a little more quiet, a lot less optimistic in its dread and gloom: ) I was beginning to worry I would be alone in this place forever. I doubt anyone has even come looking for me.

( which is what she had wanted, isn't it? as the fables often warn: be careful what you wish for. )