It was satisfying to see her nephew's fear, even more satisfying to see his eyes flee from hers—she was both surprised and disgusted at her own ecstatic joy, a nebulous happiness that sought escape from the cathedral of her skin. If this is what Confutatis felt, Nymeria thought, her heartstrings strained with guilt, it is not so surprising she lived for carnage. Seeing Kid's eyes dart to and fro, watching the bob of his throat; it ignited a primal, awful part of her, a part her mother had worked hard to impart on her. She should stifle her inheritance, nip it in the bud (where was the guilt she'd felt in her heart again?) Instead she revelled, luxuriated, in being able to strike fear into someone (anyone) even if he was only a colt.

Just wait until the day I can do that to full-grown stallions and mares.

She attempted to ride out the highs of her own sadistic pleasure, but clearly she did not do so well—it was this joy was that caused the quirk of her smirk, which carried with it a hint of misplaced glee. It was this reckless urge to manipulate and control and twist Kid's every thought, every feeling, that brought her gaze towards her dragon and made her carry out their silence to the fullest extent.

His name. Nymeria lowered her head, nostrils flaring as she heaved a deep sigh. She didn't remember why she'd chosen Lilómiel for Lilómiel anymore; the purpose to his name had failed as he aged and took on his own story. But Kid had not asked for a story, for an explanation, and so she shared openly: “Lilómiel.”

Once Lil had wanted his name to be known by everybody; now, he never objected to a lack of introduction (for that she was thankful. It was easier for him to go unnoticed.)

When she reprimanded Colt for his openness, she hadn't expected him to panic. There was a glint of white to his eyes—and what a beautiful color his irises were, come to think of it, the color of a summer sunset—and then his words began spilling out like the floodgates to the sea had been opened. Nymeria watched him, her features at first sharp and unreadable, and then a faint incredulousness washed over her fair white bones.

"Stop," she commanded, her voice like the kiss of a seabreeze on sweaty skin. But he was very pretty, Kid interjected. Instead of interrupting again, Nym waited for him to fall silent (he was running out of air anyways.)

(Even her well-timed stop had not shaken her ear; she listened to her nephew's every word, and tucked each vowel and consonant tidily away.)

"Stop." Nymeria looked at him, and swept in close to him, disregarding his personal space, disregarding her aloofness. Her head lowered; she brushed her lips gently over his forehead, pulling teasingly at his forelock. Then she stepped back, but staying in far closer proximity. "Be careful with what you share, Kid," she chided. "I am family, but everything has a price. Everyone has a price, even your twin sister. What information you decide to give away, and what you keep, could impact your future."

There's something tender in her expression now (is it real? Is it fake?) For a long moment she watches him, hoping he'll understand, and then she feeds to him what he's been looking for. (Take a moment to digest that sentence.)

"I'll start with what you know, which is likely little. Volterra is my brother—but not just a brother. A twin. We were born together, raised together for much of our life. Whereas I have always specialized in... planning, espionage if you will, he is a warrior. He doesn't hide his emotion; he wears his heart out in the open. And he—he is like an open flame. He can ruin and burn, but when the nights are cold he is both bright and warm." (It hurts talking about Volterra. It hurts so much.) "Volterra has not one but two dragons. One, a mighty gold queen; the other, a red, no less mighty for his color or gender. He... he is loyal, protective, but prone to close-mindedness, and foolishly stubborn."

She shakes her head, sadly, mockingly. "Is that enough? Or do you need more?"