![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
[Translation] Scrapped Princess | Canzonetta of the Unforgiven | The Travelers Come | Part 3/4
[Content Notes]
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Canzonetta of the Unforgiven | The Travelers Come | Part 3/4
"Um . . ." For a moment, Winia was at a loss. "What do you mean by . . ."
No, even as she asked, Winia already knew the answer.
Déjà vu. From that time.
Long, long ago, a little hand, the one and only one that had ever reached out to her . . . The remembrance of that passed through her mind.
. . . will you play with me? . . .
The memory of that far-off day. Too far--a memory that was entirely beyond her reach, now.
He was not there anymore. He had left.
"I . . ."
She had always forced herself to play the role of someone who was cool, calm, and collected. When she came into contact with other people, she chose her words carefully, took appropriate actions . . . She had come to make an effort to keep from showing her heart to others.
She suppressed any expression of emotion. She never dropped her tone of polite formality. She never showed an interest in anything when she knew it was better to leave well enough alone.
To avoid intruding on the thoughts and feelings of others any more than necessary--or perhaps so that her own would not be intruded upon--she kept her distance.
Because for Winia, getting close to someone else had been a source of pain.
She had no need of friends. She would never need them again.
That is what she thought. That is what she had thought.
"No, um . . ."
". . . nn?"
As though to prompt her to something, Pacifica peered into Winia's eyes.
There was neither calculation nor ill will in them . . . but for precisely that reason, this girl's eyes drove Winia into a corner.
"All right." Resigned, Winia gave her an awkward smile. She felt absolutely no uneasiness in it, though. "Tell me, Pacifica."
"Well, there are lots of different reasons." Pacifca smiled in apparent satisfaction. "In the end, it's all for my sake, though . . . It's better for me if I don't settle down in one place."
"Eh?"
What could that possibly mean?
"So Shannon-nii and Raquel-nee came too, to keep me company on this aimless journey."
Her tone sounded as though none of this had anything at all to do with her.
However, Winia did not fail to notice that her expression seemed somehow lonely, or that it concealed a hint of maturity. The part of Winia that repressed her own feelings had a place that was sensitive to emotional shifts in others.
A wandering journey is not so insouciant as it appears to an outsider. If you have no means to verify your background, you cannot even work, and having no home to return to wears terribly at your nerves. Depending on the region, banishment from a city can be as good as a death sentence.
"I stole everything from Raquel-nee and Shannon-nii--their home, their hobbies, their friends, their hometown, their ordinary life, everything."
"Wha . . . What do you mean?"
"It's . . ."
Pacifica was slightly hesitant to say.
Even though she had said that she would tell Winia the reason, it was probably difficult for her to decide just how much to tell her.
"It is because thou art thyself anathema."
These conclusive words came from behind the girls.
Pacifica looked back in shock. As though drawn by her reaction, Winia followed her gaze. She saw four men standing still on the street corner.
Four figures, standing detached from the bustle of the city, just exactly like substanceless shadows. All shared their short-cropped hair and ash grey cloaks in common. No, even their other aspects resembled each other to a frightening degree.
It was not that their features were naturally similar, as were Shannon's and Raquel's. That mask-like lack of expression; that puppet-like, mechanical demeanor; those finicky movements--all were so perfectly uniform that it seemed like a bad joke.
As one, the men turned in Pacifica's direction and began walking toward her.
When each took a strange implement--two small, joined, crescent-shaped objects--from his breast pocket, that too happened simultaneously.
"Winia, run away. Quickly," Pacifica said in a hushed murmur.
Even Winia could see how tense she was, but . . . at the same time, she could grasp that Pacifica was not merely confused or bewildered.
It was the serenity of one who has accepted her circumstances. Of one who has not only accepted them, but who also intends to challenge them.
"I'm the one they're after, so if you run away, I don't think they'll chase you, Winia."
Because the men's movements were so very slow, not even the people around them paid them any particular mind.
Amid the chaotic flow of the street corner, the figures of those men--who were like a gathering of mirror images--were a hole that had suddenly opened up in the ordinary and the everyday.
Winia felt that gap grind her thoughts to a halt.
. . . What? What is this? What's happening . . .
"Hurry! If you're with me, you'll get caught up in it!"
"Bu--but . . . um . . ."
A radiance slid along the edges of the men's implements.
They were blades. Except for the sections where the men gripped them, the outer circumferences of those implements were honed to a keenness that surpassed even that of a sword. They were small enough to be concealed in a breast pocket, but if taken in hand, they could stop the slashing attack of a sword, and then cut one's opponent down simply by driving in a straightforward punch. If thrown, they would take a trajectory that was difficult to predict thanks to their complex shape, and then strike down their victim.
Of course, Winia had no reason to know it, but these were weapons specialized for assassination, called "twin moon blades."
"Purge."
She did not know who had said that. It was possible that they had all spoken in unison, but whichever it was, it made no great difference.
The men brandished their twin moon blades as one. It was a small movement. The movement of a hand, with only the tiniest bit of murderous intent behind it.
"N--" Winia still had not really grasped the situation, but she recognized one thing with perfect clarity: the fact that these men intended to do harm to Pacifica. "No--!"
As though to cut down her scream, the blades were launched.
Having been provided with plenty of spinning velocity, the four blades loomed toward Pacifica, as though drawn by--
". . . O Wall, hinder1."
Shriin!
A clear, bracing sound rang through the street. Several glittering geometric patterns appeared, seeming to loop back on themselves . . . They formed right in front of Pacifica and Winia, becoming a perfect shield to protect them from the twin moon blades.
The military-grade defensive spell, Miðgarðr.
". . . ?!"
At that point, those people who had yet to realize what was happening turned to look at Pacifica and the others for the first time.
And then.
Showing neither surprise nor impatience, the men turned around. There--her black hair and cloak fluttering in the wind that blew through the street--stood a sorceress. That unexpected figure was beautiful enough to draw a sigh from an onlooker . . .
"Raquel-nee!"
. . . but the paper bag of sundry knick-knacks that she held to her breast--if we are to speak of scatterbrains, then it certainly made her look like one. Even her expression was a slack as ever--as though she were drowsily happy--and held not the least bit of tension.
"Do you have some business with my little sister?" she asked, as though meeting an acquaintance from the neighborhood. ". . . gentlemen of the Purgers."
The men were silent.
And the next moment, as expected, they pulled two twin moon blades from their breast pockets simultaneously.
Neither hesitation nor bewilderment had anything to do with them. When their target stands before them, the one and only thing is obliteration in the Lord's exalted name.
Meanwhile, Raquel held out her right hand and chanted, "O Denizens of Flame, dance."
At the same time, in the depths of Raquel's memory, the compressed activation process was decompressed and expanded within the Emulator that had been configured to execute the casting ritual. In less than one-tenth of the time that is considered to be required by its very nature, the military-grade offensive spell, Múspell, activated.
The roar of an explosion split the street right down the middle.
At the sudden explosion, people screamed and threw themselves to the ground. Densely whirling fumes and clouds of dust whitely blotted the street from sight.
"Pacifica, Winia," Raquel said, having slipped into the smoke and rushed over to them. "Let's run for it."
"Didn't you just beat them?"
In response to Pacifica's question, Raquel tipped her head to one side and said, "Our opponents are Purgers."
As expected, her tone was calm, and she showed no signs of vexation. She was simply stating the facts in a disinterested manner.
"This is my first time encountering them too, but . . . if the rumors are true, then I can't win against them. We have to get back to Shannon."
So saying, Raquel pulled the girls' hands with surprising strength and took off running.
"Damn it . . ."
Grumbling complaints to himself for the nth time, Shannon plunged the sheet into the laundry bucket.
While hunching over in a manner that was slightly pathetic for a grown man, he smeared soap on the sheet and started scrubbing it on the washboard. But then, while this was work that he was supposedly doing grudgingly, his expression somehow looked like he was enjoying himself. It also seemed that he may not have realized this himself, however.
"What a pain in the ass. You damn . . . stain . . . Dammit, come out already . . . Man . . ."
Apparently, he was a compulsive sort of person. Splashing and scrubbing, he tenaciously washed the spot on the edge of the sheet. While he may have said one thing or another about it, he probably did not dislike this sort of work.
". . . thou wouldst make a good wife."
A voice suddenly resounded.
"Mind your own business," Shannon answered without even looking back, somehow managing to master his surprise through sheer will.
If he looked back, that would give rise to a momentary opening. Given that this person had managed to make it right behind Shannon without his sensing anything, that opening would probably be enough to allow Shannon's heart to be pierced through twice.
. . . who is it?
After determining an absence of bloodlust in his opponent, Shannon slowly stood up and turned around. Of course, even so, his right hand moved to the gently curved hilt of the katana, which hung as always at his hip.
"Hn . . . ?"
Raising his brows, Shannon gazed at the person who had spoken to him.
"One branch of the Guardian Siblings Casull, Shannon Casull. I have thought about what sort thou might be."
". . ."
"I did not expect thee to be the sort who looks good in an apron."
"I said mind your own damn business," Shannon said, tearing the apron off. His listless expression did not give way, but seeing the spots of red on his cheeks, it appeared that he was embarrassed, after all.
"Be not angry. I am complimenting thine unexpected charm."
"I don't wanna hear that from a kid."
That's right.
The person standing before Shannon right now . . . was a girl so very young that it was unclear whether she had attained ten years of age or not. Her features were so refined that any onlooker, without exception, would be rooted to the spot. She had not one mote of the transience or fragility that are so common in young girls, and her long, blue hair (which stretched the full length of her body) was bound in a purple ribbon that extended up like the pricked ears of a wild beast, seeking the sound of prey.
A beautiful . . . An extraordinarily beautiful young girl.
However, the arrangement of her features was vaguely rigid. They gave the impression of a doll that had been fabricated on the basis of minute calculations.
She was beautiful, but not winsome. What this girl had was not the charm of plush toy but the beauty of a glass doll.
Shannon saw himself reflected in her amethyst eyes, which seemed to be fixed on infinity.
"Well, you probably aren't what you appear, though."
"Oh? Why dost thou think that?"
"Because even standing face-to-face like this, I don't feel any trace of your presence. You're not tangible; you're a projected image. I don't know whether it's an optical illusion spell or a hallucinogenic spell or whatever, but anyhow, if it's an illusion, you can probably take whatever form you want."
As though to confirm Shannon's words, the girl shrugged her shoulders in an oddly grown-up manner.
"Hmph. Well, it is as thou sayest . . . I am not the one who configured this appearance, though. Well, that is of no matter. I came here today to give thee a warning."
"A warning?"
"New assassins are on their way. They are the Church of Mauser's assassination unit. Though it seems they have already struck."
There, the girl fell silent, as though watching for Shannon's reaction. But as you might expect, his expression remained as listless as ever and showed no conspicuous changes.
". . . No surprise or urgency, I see. Art thou not worried about what may happen to thine younger sister?"
"Raquel's with her. If Pacifica did get killed, this city would be a burnt-out ruins by now."
So saying, Shannon once again narrowed his eyes and looked hard at the girl . . . or at least the illusion of one.
". . . Anyhow, who are you? Even if I ask that, you probably won't give me an answer, huh."
"I will not ask thee to believe me, but I am on thy side. As for my background, right now, thou would not believe me even if I told thee. I am willing to give thee my name, though." Then, after wearing a reflective expression for a moment, the girl quietly said, "Call me Arffi."
"That a pet name?"
"No, it is an abbreviation. Remember it."
So saying, the girl's--Arffi's--form wavered slowly. The next moment, the image of the girl separated into innumerable fragments as though it had been shattered, and even those fragments vanished like they were dissolving into thin air.
". . . that made no kind of sense."
As Shannon scratched the back of his head, familiar voices reached his ears. It seemed that, somehow or other, Pacifica and the others had weathered the enemy's attack and made it back.
---
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) It's strange, but these iconic bits are often the most difficult for me to translate. Or maybe it's because they're iconic that they're so tricky. Either way, I feel the need to justify my choices. X D; I chose wall rather than barrier partly because 壁 just feels more like wall to me, partly because I want to differentiate from previously translated barriers (結界), and partly because Miðgarðr is "the wall around the world." I chose hinder basically because it can be used intransitively. Back
If she looks like she might not even be ten yet, then why the hell does she have--Ahh, forget it.
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Canzonetta of the Unforgiven | The Travelers Come | Part 3/4
"Um . . ." For a moment, Winia was at a loss. "What do you mean by . . ."
No, even as she asked, Winia already knew the answer.
Déjà vu. From that time.
Long, long ago, a little hand, the one and only one that had ever reached out to her . . . The remembrance of that passed through her mind.
. . . will you play with me? . . .
The memory of that far-off day. Too far--a memory that was entirely beyond her reach, now.
He was not there anymore. He had left.
"I . . ."
She had always forced herself to play the role of someone who was cool, calm, and collected. When she came into contact with other people, she chose her words carefully, took appropriate actions . . . She had come to make an effort to keep from showing her heart to others.
She suppressed any expression of emotion. She never dropped her tone of polite formality. She never showed an interest in anything when she knew it was better to leave well enough alone.
To avoid intruding on the thoughts and feelings of others any more than necessary--or perhaps so that her own would not be intruded upon--she kept her distance.
Because for Winia, getting close to someone else had been a source of pain.
She had no need of friends. She would never need them again.
That is what she thought. That is what she had thought.
"No, um . . ."
". . . nn?"
As though to prompt her to something, Pacifica peered into Winia's eyes.
There was neither calculation nor ill will in them . . . but for precisely that reason, this girl's eyes drove Winia into a corner.
"All right." Resigned, Winia gave her an awkward smile. She felt absolutely no uneasiness in it, though. "Tell me, Pacifica."
"Well, there are lots of different reasons." Pacifca smiled in apparent satisfaction. "In the end, it's all for my sake, though . . . It's better for me if I don't settle down in one place."
"Eh?"
What could that possibly mean?
"So Shannon-nii and Raquel-nee came too, to keep me company on this aimless journey."
Her tone sounded as though none of this had anything at all to do with her.
However, Winia did not fail to notice that her expression seemed somehow lonely, or that it concealed a hint of maturity. The part of Winia that repressed her own feelings had a place that was sensitive to emotional shifts in others.
A wandering journey is not so insouciant as it appears to an outsider. If you have no means to verify your background, you cannot even work, and having no home to return to wears terribly at your nerves. Depending on the region, banishment from a city can be as good as a death sentence.
"I stole everything from Raquel-nee and Shannon-nii--their home, their hobbies, their friends, their hometown, their ordinary life, everything."
"Wha . . . What do you mean?"
"It's . . ."
Pacifica was slightly hesitant to say.
Even though she had said that she would tell Winia the reason, it was probably difficult for her to decide just how much to tell her.
"It is because thou art thyself anathema."
These conclusive words came from behind the girls.
Pacifica looked back in shock. As though drawn by her reaction, Winia followed her gaze. She saw four men standing still on the street corner.
Four figures, standing detached from the bustle of the city, just exactly like substanceless shadows. All shared their short-cropped hair and ash grey cloaks in common. No, even their other aspects resembled each other to a frightening degree.
It was not that their features were naturally similar, as were Shannon's and Raquel's. That mask-like lack of expression; that puppet-like, mechanical demeanor; those finicky movements--all were so perfectly uniform that it seemed like a bad joke.
As one, the men turned in Pacifica's direction and began walking toward her.
When each took a strange implement--two small, joined, crescent-shaped objects--from his breast pocket, that too happened simultaneously.
"Winia, run away. Quickly," Pacifica said in a hushed murmur.
Even Winia could see how tense she was, but . . . at the same time, she could grasp that Pacifica was not merely confused or bewildered.
It was the serenity of one who has accepted her circumstances. Of one who has not only accepted them, but who also intends to challenge them.
"I'm the one they're after, so if you run away, I don't think they'll chase you, Winia."
Because the men's movements were so very slow, not even the people around them paid them any particular mind.
Amid the chaotic flow of the street corner, the figures of those men--who were like a gathering of mirror images--were a hole that had suddenly opened up in the ordinary and the everyday.
Winia felt that gap grind her thoughts to a halt.
. . . What? What is this? What's happening . . .
"Hurry! If you're with me, you'll get caught up in it!"
"Bu--but . . . um . . ."
A radiance slid along the edges of the men's implements.
They were blades. Except for the sections where the men gripped them, the outer circumferences of those implements were honed to a keenness that surpassed even that of a sword. They were small enough to be concealed in a breast pocket, but if taken in hand, they could stop the slashing attack of a sword, and then cut one's opponent down simply by driving in a straightforward punch. If thrown, they would take a trajectory that was difficult to predict thanks to their complex shape, and then strike down their victim.
Of course, Winia had no reason to know it, but these were weapons specialized for assassination, called "twin moon blades."
"Purge."
She did not know who had said that. It was possible that they had all spoken in unison, but whichever it was, it made no great difference.
The men brandished their twin moon blades as one. It was a small movement. The movement of a hand, with only the tiniest bit of murderous intent behind it.
"N--" Winia still had not really grasped the situation, but she recognized one thing with perfect clarity: the fact that these men intended to do harm to Pacifica. "No--!"
As though to cut down her scream, the blades were launched.
Having been provided with plenty of spinning velocity, the four blades loomed toward Pacifica, as though drawn by--
". . . O Wall, hinder1."
Shriin!
A clear, bracing sound rang through the street. Several glittering geometric patterns appeared, seeming to loop back on themselves . . . They formed right in front of Pacifica and Winia, becoming a perfect shield to protect them from the twin moon blades.
The military-grade defensive spell, Miðgarðr.
". . . ?!"
At that point, those people who had yet to realize what was happening turned to look at Pacifica and the others for the first time.
And then.
Showing neither surprise nor impatience, the men turned around. There--her black hair and cloak fluttering in the wind that blew through the street--stood a sorceress. That unexpected figure was beautiful enough to draw a sigh from an onlooker . . .
"Raquel-nee!"
. . . but the paper bag of sundry knick-knacks that she held to her breast--if we are to speak of scatterbrains, then it certainly made her look like one. Even her expression was a slack as ever--as though she were drowsily happy--and held not the least bit of tension.
"Do you have some business with my little sister?" she asked, as though meeting an acquaintance from the neighborhood. ". . . gentlemen of the Purgers."
The men were silent.
And the next moment, as expected, they pulled two twin moon blades from their breast pockets simultaneously.
Neither hesitation nor bewilderment had anything to do with them. When their target stands before them, the one and only thing is obliteration in the Lord's exalted name.
Meanwhile, Raquel held out her right hand and chanted, "O Denizens of Flame, dance."
At the same time, in the depths of Raquel's memory, the compressed activation process was decompressed and expanded within the Emulator that had been configured to execute the casting ritual. In less than one-tenth of the time that is considered to be required by its very nature, the military-grade offensive spell, Múspell, activated.
The roar of an explosion split the street right down the middle.
At the sudden explosion, people screamed and threw themselves to the ground. Densely whirling fumes and clouds of dust whitely blotted the street from sight.
"Pacifica, Winia," Raquel said, having slipped into the smoke and rushed over to them. "Let's run for it."
"Didn't you just beat them?"
In response to Pacifica's question, Raquel tipped her head to one side and said, "Our opponents are Purgers."
As expected, her tone was calm, and she showed no signs of vexation. She was simply stating the facts in a disinterested manner.
"This is my first time encountering them too, but . . . if the rumors are true, then I can't win against them. We have to get back to Shannon."
So saying, Raquel pulled the girls' hands with surprising strength and took off running.
"Damn it . . ."
Grumbling complaints to himself for the nth time, Shannon plunged the sheet into the laundry bucket.
While hunching over in a manner that was slightly pathetic for a grown man, he smeared soap on the sheet and started scrubbing it on the washboard. But then, while this was work that he was supposedly doing grudgingly, his expression somehow looked like he was enjoying himself. It also seemed that he may not have realized this himself, however.
"What a pain in the ass. You damn . . . stain . . . Dammit, come out already . . . Man . . ."
Apparently, he was a compulsive sort of person. Splashing and scrubbing, he tenaciously washed the spot on the edge of the sheet. While he may have said one thing or another about it, he probably did not dislike this sort of work.
". . . thou wouldst make a good wife."
A voice suddenly resounded.
"Mind your own business," Shannon answered without even looking back, somehow managing to master his surprise through sheer will.
If he looked back, that would give rise to a momentary opening. Given that this person had managed to make it right behind Shannon without his sensing anything, that opening would probably be enough to allow Shannon's heart to be pierced through twice.
. . . who is it?
After determining an absence of bloodlust in his opponent, Shannon slowly stood up and turned around. Of course, even so, his right hand moved to the gently curved hilt of the katana, which hung as always at his hip.
"Hn . . . ?"
Raising his brows, Shannon gazed at the person who had spoken to him.
"One branch of the Guardian Siblings Casull, Shannon Casull. I have thought about what sort thou might be."
". . ."
"I did not expect thee to be the sort who looks good in an apron."
"I said mind your own damn business," Shannon said, tearing the apron off. His listless expression did not give way, but seeing the spots of red on his cheeks, it appeared that he was embarrassed, after all.
"Be not angry. I am complimenting thine unexpected charm."
"I don't wanna hear that from a kid."
That's right.
The person standing before Shannon right now . . . was a girl so very young that it was unclear whether she had attained ten years of age or not. Her features were so refined that any onlooker, without exception, would be rooted to the spot. She had not one mote of the transience or fragility that are so common in young girls, and her long, blue hair (which stretched the full length of her body) was bound in a purple ribbon that extended up like the pricked ears of a wild beast, seeking the sound of prey.
A beautiful . . . An extraordinarily beautiful young girl.
However, the arrangement of her features was vaguely rigid. They gave the impression of a doll that had been fabricated on the basis of minute calculations.
She was beautiful, but not winsome. What this girl had was not the charm of plush toy but the beauty of a glass doll.
Shannon saw himself reflected in her amethyst eyes, which seemed to be fixed on infinity.
"Well, you probably aren't what you appear, though."
"Oh? Why dost thou think that?"
"Because even standing face-to-face like this, I don't feel any trace of your presence. You're not tangible; you're a projected image. I don't know whether it's an optical illusion spell or a hallucinogenic spell or whatever, but anyhow, if it's an illusion, you can probably take whatever form you want."
As though to confirm Shannon's words, the girl shrugged her shoulders in an oddly grown-up manner.
"Hmph. Well, it is as thou sayest . . . I am not the one who configured this appearance, though. Well, that is of no matter. I came here today to give thee a warning."
"A warning?"
"New assassins are on their way. They are the Church of Mauser's assassination unit. Though it seems they have already struck."
There, the girl fell silent, as though watching for Shannon's reaction. But as you might expect, his expression remained as listless as ever and showed no conspicuous changes.
". . . No surprise or urgency, I see. Art thou not worried about what may happen to thine younger sister?"
"Raquel's with her. If Pacifica did get killed, this city would be a burnt-out ruins by now."
So saying, Shannon once again narrowed his eyes and looked hard at the girl . . . or at least the illusion of one.
". . . Anyhow, who are you? Even if I ask that, you probably won't give me an answer, huh."
"I will not ask thee to believe me, but I am on thy side. As for my background, right now, thou would not believe me even if I told thee. I am willing to give thee my name, though." Then, after wearing a reflective expression for a moment, the girl quietly said, "Call me Arffi."
"That a pet name?"
"No, it is an abbreviation. Remember it."
So saying, the girl's--Arffi's--form wavered slowly. The next moment, the image of the girl separated into innumerable fragments as though it had been shattered, and even those fragments vanished like they were dissolving into thin air.
". . . that made no kind of sense."
As Shannon scratched the back of his head, familiar voices reached his ears. It seemed that, somehow or other, Pacifica and the others had weathered the enemy's attack and made it back.
---
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) It's strange, but these iconic bits are often the most difficult for me to translate. Or maybe it's because they're iconic that they're so tricky. Either way, I feel the need to justify my choices. X D; I chose wall rather than barrier partly because 壁 just feels more like wall to me, partly because I want to differentiate from previously translated barriers (結界), and partly because Miðgarðr is "the wall around the world." I chose hinder basically because it can be used intransitively. Back
If she looks like she might not even be ten yet, then why the hell does she have--Ahh, forget it.
no subject
>was a girl so very young that it was unclear whether she had attained ten years of age or not.
Good lord even disregarding the boobs I thought she is supposed to look more like 14 or something.
>But then, while this was work that he was supposedly doing grudgingly, his expression somehow looked like he was enjoying himself. It also seemed that he may not have realized this himself, however.
...There are few things more satisfying than head canon coming true. XD (Actually, I got the hint in the anime when Shannon is grumbling while making the bed, but then goes "Oh, this edge needs straightening too.")
>If he looked back, that would give rise to a momentary opening. Given that this person had managed to make it right behind Shannon without his sensing anything, that opening would probably be enough to allow Shannon's heart to be pierced through twice.
It really is interesting to read about a character's thoughts. I didn't realize there is so much to Shannon's thought process when he didn't turn around to look at Zefiris.
no subject
Being described as looking 14 would have been better. Still not legal(-appearing), but at least somewhat less creepy. OTOH, the creepiness is probably the whole point. Well, at least she can make Shannon blush on their very first meeting. That has to count for something.
You got the compulsive personality thing right, even, which is something I had forgotten about. X D (I love that line. It's very effective at conveying personality for being such a minor detail.)
That crops up a lot in Sutepri, at least for me. All kinds of things I don't even think about, these characters have actual reasons for.