"Thank you. Are you one of those people who sleeps like a log?" She folds the tweed blanket over lap and smooths it with her hands.
"Dying is an art," she quotes. "And I do it exceptionally well." She dips her hand back into the water and tilts her head back at him in perfect imitation. "They faked my death, back in the day. Drowned at sea, they said. And then there were just a few more times I was presumed dead before the end of the war. No actual resurrections, although in the eye of the public I'm practically a phoenix."
It's probably nothing compared to what he's seen. Faked deaths are the stuff of spy novels and soap operas, not of universes full of sparkling individuals and races pulsing with progress. But it's important to her.
She cracks her knuckles and runs a hand through her wet, tangled hair. As she continues talking she clips it back again. "Besides, aren't I always full of surprises?"
no subject
"Dying is an art," she quotes. "And I do it exceptionally well." She dips her hand back into the water and tilts her head back at him in perfect imitation. "They faked my death, back in the day. Drowned at sea, they said. And then there were just a few more times I was presumed dead before the end of the war. No actual resurrections, although in the eye of the public I'm practically a phoenix."
It's probably nothing compared to what he's seen. Faked deaths are the stuff of spy novels and soap operas, not of universes full of sparkling individuals and races pulsing with progress. But it's important to her.
She cracks her knuckles and runs a hand through her wet, tangled hair. As she continues talking she clips it back again. "Besides, aren't I always full of surprises?"