[It is something like the sensation one experiences when listening to someone speak a language you only half understand, and Sieglinde can only watch impassively as the two made their cases, talking of comfort and distractions and company and secrets, all things that she hardly denied worked.
But they were for other people. Weaker people. Less dutiful people. People who weren't her, because she was supposed to be able to work no matter what, and not need anyone, and not let anyone see her upset.
Yet what is she supposed to do? If she were to slam the door in their faces she would be branded childish, something done all too easily with how small she was... and though she hardly appreciates it at the moment, they both seemed... determined.
Sieglinde chokes down the desire to make a scathing rebuttal, to claim they knew nothing of her if they would make such silly assertions, and instead turns to go back into her room to retrieve some of her files, leaving the door open.]
Do as you please, then.
[If they step through the threshhold, the eyes of her skull-faced familiar would be the first to greet them, glowing softly in the candlelit semi-darkness of the room, one filled to the brim and cluttered with books, vials, chemicals, files, and all manner of witch-like paraphernalia.]
no subject
But they were for other people. Weaker people. Less dutiful people. People who weren't her, because she was supposed to be able to work no matter what, and not need anyone, and not let anyone see her upset.
Yet what is she supposed to do? If she were to slam the door in their faces she would be branded childish, something done all too easily with how small she was... and though she hardly appreciates it at the moment, they both seemed... determined.
Sieglinde chokes down the desire to make a scathing rebuttal, to claim they knew nothing of her if they would make such silly assertions, and instead turns to go back into her room to retrieve some of her files, leaving the door open.]
Do as you please, then.
[If they step through the threshhold, the eyes of her skull-faced familiar would be the first to greet them, glowing softly in the candlelit semi-darkness of the room, one filled to the brim and cluttered with books, vials, chemicals, files, and all manner of witch-like paraphernalia.]