---

Where his perceived disregard for her life only minutes ago had touched a nerve, this blatant declaration strangely didn't faze her. It seemed to have something to do with the fact that what he said made sense to her. For example if he were to suddenly lose his mental faculties or became physically helpless due to some accident or other she'd probably kill him to spare herself the public humiliation. If he ever failed to demand her respect she'd wash her hands of him.

What he'd said made sense.

Perhaps for the first time in their marriage she could understand and maybe even respect his need to curb her behavior. Tig had been working on her public image for a while now but it hadn't been for his sake (although if it had she wouldn't have admitted it to herself anyway), it had been purely for her own. Her interest in society - in life - had returned after years of apathy, an apathy that had started in the imminent lead up to their wedding. It had taken staring death in the face - staring him in the face with his his hand around her throat - to revive her will to live.

Fine. The word was razor sharp and her demeanor was now very sober, all artifice gone. I suppose, she paused, her lips pursed and her brows rose as she set her jaw and swallowed her pride, I'd probably do the same if I were you. Her words were noticeably rushed, especially when contrasted against those that followed. But I want a safeguard. A way of summoning you quickly when situations like this evening arise. You want the Vow, you can take responsibility for it when your dubious wording threatens my life. Tig was effectively asking for help and it was only the memory of how cornered she'd felt earlier, how she never wanted to feel that way again, that made it possible. She was already trying to reframe it to herself as an imposition upon him, a way of making him suffer some of the Vow's restrictions with her.

---

Outfit | Tag: Tiberius Lestrange | Notes: