There he went again with his word games; he really was relentless. The past takes no pleasure in me. There were poems in that, she thought; but of course he had not explained himself any further. He did not sound willing to. A politer person would have understood, then, not to go digging in it.
“The past is much larger than that which concerns you or I,” Porphyria said, more unaffected than he was by the thought of experiencing memories through the eyes of someone or another deceased, whether they had any direct links to her or not. “Perhaps I am foolish,” she agreed, smiling wryly at him; half in argument, half teasing. He had called her sort of people foolish; she rather thought there was a different root of the issue, and was not particularly afraid to press the issue. “What exactly is it you are afraid of?”
“The past is much larger than that which concerns you or I,” Porphyria said, more unaffected than he was by the thought of experiencing memories through the eyes of someone or another deceased, whether they had any direct links to her or not. “Perhaps I am foolish,” she agreed, smiling wryly at him; half in argument, half teasing. He had called her sort of people foolish; she rather thought there was a different root of the issue, and was not particularly afraid to press the issue. “What exactly is it you are afraid of?”
a sublime set by Lady! <3