[ It's not a scar, Shadowheart thinks, though she won't share that with this stranger. He might come to that conclusion on his own, if he looks closely enough, or manages to touch it again: black and unhealed, a deep gouge on the back of her hand. A guidepost from her goddess, pain to show her the path forward.
For now, Shadowheart cups it close to her heart, arms covering her breasts. It's not that she's shied, and her body language largely says the opposite--she doesn't fold in on herself or avert her eyes. Her spine straightens instead, chin lifting to hold his gaze. She can handle this boy, whoever he is.
There's another scar, faded and shallow, that sweeps from the bridge of her nose across her cheek. Water drips down it and over her brow, onto her lashes. ]
There's still soap in my hair. Perhaps I should have washed myself.
[ Deflecting, as she turns her back: offering him the chance to make up for it, by doing a better job this time. ]
no subject
For now, Shadowheart cups it close to her heart, arms covering her breasts. It's not that she's shied, and her body language largely says the opposite--she doesn't fold in on herself or avert her eyes. Her spine straightens instead, chin lifting to hold his gaze. She can handle this boy, whoever he is.
There's another scar, faded and shallow, that sweeps from the bridge of her nose across her cheek. Water drips down it and over her brow, onto her lashes. ]
There's still soap in my hair. Perhaps I should have washed myself.
[ Deflecting, as she turns her back: offering him the chance to make up for it, by doing a better job this time. ]
Do you heal quickly, then?