>>6327412>Best roll: DC 77 overcome, DC 99 not overcomeWillow keeps her distance.
There is something inside her, some sort of awareness at the edge of her perception, like seeing a shadow moving with the corner of her eye, that screams at her to neither look at the things the Kiengir men and women are walking on leashes, rubbing their sable fingers against, or drinking from—
Ugh.
Oh, fuck.
And at the same time, to not look the mysterious woman in the face.
The same feeling that screams at her not to jump over a cliff, no matter the temptation, the same feeling that used to keep her from throwing herself into the traffic.
That was back home.
But here is just as strong.
Just do not look at the woman. Whoever she is.
Instead, she follows at a careful distance, wary of the many other Kiengir she risks bumping into. Thankfully, they all step aside just a moment before she touches them or their… things.
If Argia was there with her, she would probably spend a few minutes on her knees praying to Ansàrra for such a blessing.
There had been a time when Willow would have thought less of Argia for it—when she had first known the silver-haired girl, her faith, so out of place with her looks and her upbringing, had seemed to her like nothing more than a little quirk.
It had made her a bit more interesting than even her gorgeous looks could.
Because yes, Argia had always been breath-taking, but it had been her kindness, her courage and her pure heart that had won her over.
Oh God, she sounds like lovesick puppy.
But—
She is. Dammit.
It gives her a hidden strength that hallowed her to go through with the plan, to keep herself from retching as the disgusting length of the Worm slid under her tongue and into her throat and then—
How it swelled inside her and—
[cont.,]
