As Themis appeared in the fireplace, she was not proud of her decisions. She had left the courtyard with a fluttering of hope in her chest, a dangerous feeling if there ever was one. She'd left the library, left the noise of the city, and found herself pacing in her rooms. What were they doing? Samuel had made clear that she could have no place in his quest, whatever it was. His venture was something she had no business in, he needed to do this alone, and now he had given her a way to see him again. Merlin, what was she doing? Perhaps all things could be forgiven if her first action upon arriving home wasn't to pen a note to her son, telling him not to expect her for dinner; her plans had changed. It wasn't a lie.
She stepped from the fireplace, and her unease grew. She felt the hairs at the nape of her neck respond, felt the first wave of discomfort that told every instinct that something was amiss. The room required investigation, everything about this scenario required deeper exploration, but her first concern was unchanged. Samuel was here and no worse for wear than she left him in the courtyard. It was embarrassing how much that delighted her. "Samuel," She was crossing the space between them without thought and she closed distance too fast, too recklessly. She stopped herself from reaching for him, forced her hand to stop its path toward him. She forced herself to freeze and she felt ridiculous as she stood there, less than an arm's length between them with her hand raised to his face and she couldn't bridge the distance. He hadn't given her permission and in this world, she didn't know the rules. She was at a loss.
Reluctantly letting her hands fall to her side, she stood before him at a loss, begging for direction in every uncomfortable, tense line of her body. She waited, because it was sane, it was correct. She would wait for his move because she was already trespassing, already her presence out of place here. Licking her lips, forcing herself to breathe and to wait, she met his eyes, tension palpable as she restrained herself. "Thank you for allowing me here." She offered quietly, the idea that she cared for manners now a laughable one, but there was no laughter in her face. What had they done, that she felt so unsure in her own skin?
She stepped from the fireplace, and her unease grew. She felt the hairs at the nape of her neck respond, felt the first wave of discomfort that told every instinct that something was amiss. The room required investigation, everything about this scenario required deeper exploration, but her first concern was unchanged. Samuel was here and no worse for wear than she left him in the courtyard. It was embarrassing how much that delighted her. "Samuel," She was crossing the space between them without thought and she closed distance too fast, too recklessly. She stopped herself from reaching for him, forced her hand to stop its path toward him. She forced herself to freeze and she felt ridiculous as she stood there, less than an arm's length between them with her hand raised to his face and she couldn't bridge the distance. He hadn't given her permission and in this world, she didn't know the rules. She was at a loss.
Reluctantly letting her hands fall to her side, she stood before him at a loss, begging for direction in every uncomfortable, tense line of her body. She waited, because it was sane, it was correct. She would wait for his move because she was already trespassing, already her presence out of place here. Licking her lips, forcing herself to breathe and to wait, she met his eyes, tension palpable as she restrained herself. "Thank you for allowing me here." She offered quietly, the idea that she cared for manners now a laughable one, but there was no laughter in her face. What had they done, that she felt so unsure in her own skin?
![[Image: Bka0H0x.jpeg]](https://i.imgur.com/Bka0H0x.jpeg)