she learned a lesson back there in the flames; any

[Cordis]

“I err on the side of caution,” she says. It was a lesson hard learned. She does not know how to be approachable, certainly not now. Truth is, she doesn’t know how to be much of anything, now – she exists but that’s it. She doesn’t thrive, doesn’t better herself, she simply is, a silver woman with lighting and too many bad memories to count. “And truth be told, I haven’t met many friendly souls,” she says, “though I’m not a friendly soul myself, so I’m not one to talk.” It’s a strangely honest confession, and perhaps one that would drive him away. She doesn’t want him to leave, not really – there is a part of her that is desperately lonely, a primal, instinctual part of her that cries out for company in spite of the lightning and the black marks checkered across her soul. Perhaps this sparks what she says next, which is: “I do apologize for my tone. It hasn’t been the best month. Or year.” Years, really, but that’s more gloom than she cares to share. She doesn’t really know how much time has passed (time does not exist in such a dark place, He had said to her once, and it had stuck with her ever since). “Surely there are better souls to flaunt at than me,” she says, “much of it goes over my head.” Her own countenance, while dramatic, aren’t intended to draw the eye (they do, of course, but it’s not her wont). She supposes she could make the lightning invisible, but she likes the visibility of her. The way brightly colored frogs mark themselves poisonous. Warning signs. Or maybe there’s a touch of drama to her, after all. c o r d i s I’ll touch you all and make damn sure that no one touches me