The words catch her off guard more than any physical blow.  Her delicate figure quivers, as though touched by an icy breeze, but her lavender eyes widen in surprise.  The foolish words that had cascaded from her mouth had not upset the Lord swathed in shadow.  Instead, against all odds, they resonated with him.  Ever so slightly, Zyanya moves closer toward him, taking comfort in the mortal emotions and vulnerability of his confession, feeling akin to the stallion she feared moments before.  In the hollows of her chest, the heart pounds wildly still, uncertain of the sincerity of his words, but the girl's brain has already accepted them - foolish or not.

I frequently feel the same.

Perhaps, the Lord only wanted to soothe one of his more pathetic subjects.  Maybe, his intentions were to halt the forthcoming whine, the nattering share of her insecurities.  The thoughts briefly passed, like ugly ghosts, through the caverns of her mind.  Instead, as though taking things at face value were the only quality in the world to define her, Zyanya resolutely decided to feel the kinship in that admittance of self-doubt.  Even someone who stood, powerful as the mountains he held in his grasp, felt the sting of inadequacy.  A smile, brighter than the sun above, breaks onto her gentle face.
She wanted to like the ruler of her home, for better or ill.

The depth of his blue eyes falls upon her frame, and she makes no attempt to hide the openness of her posture, now relaxed in his gaze.  The dainty height and proportions of her frame would not escape notice of anyone, being small even by her home's standards.  Otherwise, the only notable feature held was her smile, even in the face of the Reaper himself.  His question, poised to her like a challenge to look inward, is accepted with seriousness.  She tears her lavender eyes away from the dark contours of his face, scanning the horizon absently as she focuses more inward.  Skills, she thinks, not quite sure if she possessed any worth mentioning.  Back home, her only skill worked and instilled in her every day was to be pleasant but forgettable.  A lady of the court wreathed in smiles and nothing more, with no real talents of mending, creating, or battling.  To admit this to Deimos would be embarrassing, but the girl never once considered lying.  While Zyanya may shy away from sharing details of herself, she never lied.  A spark lights behind both of her lilac eyes.

The smile returns out of the depths of her concentration, and her head turns with a regretful look in her eyes.  "I am always kind," she says openly, allowing the words a few moments to breathe before setting forward.  "And always honest.  Therefore, I cannot say for sure if I have any skills of note."  Then, with a laugh, musical in its utterance as if to prove the next set of words before they fall from her maw, she looks toward the sky.  "But I can sing various songs of a realm now lost."

The lore of her home often centered around music, mostly ceremonial chants and dances.  She recalls many nights singing and welcoming the stars into the night sky, the words ancient in their language, but the meaning never lost.  The stars were thought to be creators for their home, for their people, and the sparks of magic.  For centuries, the magic present in Helovia had existed in her former home as well, but as the war began to usurp the serenity and balance of the land, more and more the ethereal quality faded.  Magic became a fairy tale spoken of to children, and that had been the end.

Eyes glazed momentarily in memory, they return to the present with a cheerful air.  The smile fades from her lips, yet the countenance of her face echoes its shining presence for longer as she looks toward the Lord.
""

We've made a fool out of love, when all we want is to be enough
when all we want is to feel enough