Branwen quirked an eyebrow at the nickname. "Raisin Bran? Damn, haven't heard that one in a while." It had been years, much less from Ezra's lips since they were estranged. Her attention turned to Ezra's attempt at conversation with the driver.
The servant remained as it was, staring forward and making gentle movements to guide them through space. It didn't even seem to register that Ezra had asked a question.
When it didn't respond, Bran observed, "That's because they're the same as our skeletons. These just still have their meat." She'd never been a fan of flesh magic. It was too grotesque for her liking. Bones, when they were clean and dry, had a beauty in their structure that she preferred. Leave the squishy matter to the other houses—Bran found herself grateful she had been born where she was.
Through the front window, stars whizzed past. The eighth house looked like a faraway blue ball. It grew bigger as they hurdled towards it, and later, they'd pass it completely.
Ezra chuckled at Branwen's reaction to the old nickname. "Well, I guess some things never change. Figured it might lighten the mood a bit."
As Branwen explained about the servants, Ezra’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. "So they're basically walking meat puppets? That’s… interesting. Never thought I’d miss the sight of bare bones."
She glanced around the interior, noting the stark difference in aesthetics. "I get it though. Flesh magic isn't exactly my thing either. Too messy. I prefer the shadows." Ezra settled back into her seat, watching the stars blur past the window. It was a mesmerizing sight, but her mind was already racing ahead to the upcoming party.
Ezra let out a sigh, breaking the silence. "I wonder what the other houses are like. Been a while since I've seen any of them up close. Do you think they'll remember me? Do you think they'll remember us? Or better yet, do you think they'll care?"
Her eyes flicked back to Branwen, trying to gauge her ex-friend's thoughts. Despite their rocky history, there was a part of her that was genuinely curious about Branwen’s opinions. It was almost comforting, in a twisted sort of way, to have someone familiar beside her as they approached the unknown.
Branwen rested her head against the wall. Sleep tugged at her eyes, heavy lids begging her to close them for just a moment. With the emperor's ship's arrival with a handful of—as Ezra said—walking meat puppets, she'd hardly gotten three hours of precious sleep the last night. But there was no time for sleep now. She had to keep an eye on Ezra. Heavens only knew what mischief she could get into while Bran dozed.
A smile of amusement tugged at her lips at Nix's opinion between flesh and bone magic. Maybe in some things the two of them weren't so different after all.
"I'm not sure," Branwen answered honestly. She'd been wondering about the same thing, whether the leaders of the other houses would remember her from when she was small. She didn't remember them. She also wondered if those leaders would even be there, or if it might be their children there instead.
Bran gave Ezra a sideline glance. She inquired, genuine, "Do you want them to care?"
(IT'S BEEN 11 DAYS SRRY ;-; IM WRITING MY RESPONSE RN)
(It's all good! Not a problem, respond when you're able!)
Ezra leaned against the cold surface, her arms crossed over her chest, a sly grin creeping across her face. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flickered with a hint of mischief.
“Care?” she echoed, a mocking tone lacing her voice. “Why would I want those decrepit old fools to care? Their opinions are as worthless as their existence.”
“I don’t need their approval, Bran. I need their fear. I want them to remember my name with a shiver down their spine, not because they care, but because they know what I’m capable of.”
Ezra’s gaze hardened, and a cold, dark amusement danced in her eyes. “And trust me, by the time I’m done, they’ll have no choice but to remember. Whether it’s their leaders or their children, it makes no difference to me. They’re all just pieces on the board, and I’m the one pulling the strings.”
She chuckled softly, almost to herself, before adding, “Besides, if they’re too busy caring, they might miss what’s really important… like keeping their heads attached to their shoulders.”
Her grin never fades as she watched Branwen with a look that was equal parts amusement and menace. “So, tell me, Bran… do you want them to care?”
(It's been A MONTH? I'm sorry. ;-;)
