Kid watches her with a tedious scrupulousness, like a barn owl circling a field, head tilting to catch the scratchings of a mouse. What is he looking for? There was nothing for him to find—nothing for him to decipher. For her, living a life made up of lies, even the scarcest twitch of an ear was a calculated ploy—and she lived such a life among adults, among men and women, not small boys whose balls have yet to drop. To Kid she delivers a new smile, a quirk of her lips directed as his acuity, a sharp and dreadful warning where the crafted kindness of her face ebbed away. Beneath that mask (her mask) was revealed a tantalizing glint of true nature, a hardened and caustic jab at Kid's bravado. The meaning was clear: you're out of your league.

So many smiles, so many of them fake.

Lilómiel laughed, her stinginess, at her denial—the fact that she let her face drop at all spoke volumes about the nature of Kid and her. Those volumes did not indicate the hate and the rage that pulsed through her when she thought of Volterra fucking Colt transferring to the twins.

He speaks again. This time, he straightens, his little chin lifting and his ruinous eyes without fear (that'd get him killed someday); yes, I'm sure. Of course he'd be certain (otherwise he wouldn't be asking that question.) Nymeria's lips twist wryly, not into a smile but into a smirk, and she looked upwards to her dragon. The black chirped, stretching his wings and cruising out on a wider trajectory—prepared to watch for anyone who might be so rude to disrupt her and her nephew's evening. (She still hated his face, but she didn't hate his guts anymore.)

A sigh. A sweep of her tail along her flank. The snow glistening in starlight, and the starlight glistening in Kid's eyes.

(Would she be doomed to fall to him one day? Be overtaken by the younger generation?)

What would you like to know? Again one of her brows rise in a mocking arc, and she snorts, just violently enough to get the point across. “I didn't ask for you to reflect my question back at me,” she said, patient and nonchalant. "I asked you to tell me something. So tell me. A secret, a lie, a truth—whatever you want. And if it's worth Volterra, I'll tell you about Volterra. If not... you'll have to try again." She pauses, and then she chides him with a laugh (gentle and friendly and bouncing) and a wink.

"Whatever you're comfortable with sharing, Kid."