(it's almost certainly, not what she's used to. arlecchino doesn't speak further on it (yet) since she can't say that it's not got her curiosity. how a woman like this go from what normal people might find creepy to almost seeming too surprised by her presence. or that's the impression that the knave has, strange woman. the sort of strange that gets her attention.
regardless, she doesn't see it as fear. not the tremble she feels when tharja traces along her nose. the heat is stronger along her skin, those unnatural eyes of hers follows the other woman's hand before turning her attention back to the comment about fondling her nose. heavy petting on a smaller scale, huh? she muses almost that it likely would have been different had this been somewhere more sensitive than tracing along than handsome face of hers. wickedly handsome, threatening in how her eyes seem bottomless.
then again, her wearing her hair down and straightened out might not help her case much. the heat blooms and gathers under the surface, furious heat which seems to not fade and seeps into tharja's fingers. that tremble was curious. enough that arlecchino raises a brow, but does not question it. curses are interesting, instead of something like grima? what arlecchino has goes past that. right in the blood of her ancestors, the blood she carries deep in her veins.
a curse passed down to their children if any, their descendants.)
I see. I wouldn't say that I would attempt to fondle a nose, though.
(if tharja pays more attention, she would see the champagne glass that the knave holds is almost certainly not held by a normal hand. those are claws along her fingers, skin dark like charcoal or leaning into pitch black, with markings running down her hands that are visible. the rest along her arms? those are hidden beneath her suit. not in view, but there is more cursed and blemished skin where that came from.
far too much of it. though another trick of the mind, it must be how her eyes almost glow in predatory amusement.)
no subject
regardless, she doesn't see it as fear. not the tremble she feels when tharja traces along her nose. the heat is stronger along her skin, those unnatural eyes of hers follows the other woman's hand before turning her attention back to the comment about fondling her nose. heavy petting on a smaller scale, huh? she muses almost that it likely would have been different had this been somewhere more sensitive than tracing along than handsome face of hers. wickedly handsome, threatening in how her eyes seem bottomless.
then again, her wearing her hair down and straightened out might not help her case much. the heat blooms and gathers under the surface, furious heat which seems to not fade and seeps into tharja's fingers. that tremble was curious. enough that arlecchino raises a brow, but does not question it. curses are interesting, instead of something like grima? what arlecchino has goes past that. right in the blood of her ancestors, the blood she carries deep in her veins.
a curse passed down to their children if any, their descendants.)
I see. I wouldn't say that I would attempt to fondle a nose, though.
(if tharja pays more attention, she would see the champagne glass that the knave holds is almost certainly not held by a normal hand. those are claws along her fingers, skin dark like charcoal or leaning into pitch black, with markings running down her hands that are visible. the rest along her arms? those are hidden beneath her suit. not in view, but there is more cursed and blemished skin where that came from.
far too much of it. though another trick of the mind, it must be how her eyes almost glow in predatory amusement.)