and the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

He followed her, like always, no matter her schemes, her silliness, her whimsical fancies; and she almost had to wonder why, but didn’t give it voice, didn’t give it resonance, because the notion of faith, of dedication, of trust and devotion still reverberated through her heart, through her soul. If he held the same amount for her as she did for him, then they were a blessed pair, and she kept the notion to herself, muffling a laugh between her teeth and tongue, keeping the air of mystery, the extortion of enigmas aloft, free, unwinding in the air, arching her brows and glancing at him over her shoulder as they walked to a safer clearing. A part of her mischief, impish contortions beckoned and pondered over what he thought she’d managed to concoct, if he feared, if he cheered, if he was eager to chide or sigh; she’d flirted with danger too many times in the past, placing her essence, her frame, her figure right into the pathway of treachery without the slightest of hesitation (and sometimes, even with apprehension, tied together with consternation and nerves, then throwing herself into the flames anyway). But it’d always been for something; a quest, a sojourn, a sentiment meant for the greater good – this current one had been presented to her by fairies and blood falls, then charmed by a God himself, and she carried it carefully, resolutely, down into the barest regions of her virtue, of her valor, so they beat on the same wavelength, all sparks and aspirations.
 
Imogen followed her with the grace, poise, and dignity of a cunning little creature, and sat nobly, proudly, when they finally ceased movement and motion, as the Songbird turned back towards the gilded phantom and smiled. The ivory kitsune only chirped once, a beckoning call of some otherworldly siren, while Lena whispered, a hushed reverence, a twinkle in her eye, in her grin, in her eager, fervent delight. “Just watch,” she murmured, and with a rush of a strain, an aria, as all her poems, refrains, and verses seemed to begin, the tiny collar resting along the vixen’s nape detached itself –
 
And spun into a shield, crackling, sizzling, snapping with wondrous electricity, flickering to the ground with a spinning ambition until Lena seized it in her mouth by the cleverly-adorned handle; a circular contortion of metal and protection, meant to defend, meant to guard, meant to defy those who yearned to wrong. She held it within her lips, it felt lighter than air, than the wind, than the breeze, and maneuvered forward, pressing closer until she stood before the golden stag, beaming, just as wild and savage and beautiful as the forged defense. She managed to hum around the grip, before placing it down by her daggers, allowing it to flash, twinkle, and flare around her feet. “I came across a piece of the Sentinel’s metal that had fallen,” and here the nymph gestured to the distorted wardens in the distance, splintering and rusting apart. “Oddly enough,” she continued, and like so many stories surrounding Helovia it was anchored amidst invocations and deities, bowing mortals, incomprehensible reasons and vows, “I then met a fairy within the Blood Falls, who urged me to seek out our patron God. He enchanted the portion for me.” Her eyes fell to the glinting ware and its gleaming surface, ornamented by power and promises, oaths and assurances. Then, quickly, swiftly, they were riveted back to his, awaiting his valid, forthright opinion with one more incandescent smile. “What do you think?”
 
Thereafter, to assure she was still fully aware of their miniature trade, the grin manifested back into its pixie counterparts - nothing forgotten. “Your turn!”

the songbird