anyone;

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails Nayl didn’t expect to see Djinni, not yet and not when she is consumed by her own rage, her own shame. The genie appears, however, and it isn’t in her nature to turn away a friend – a trusted confidant – but her rope-like muscles are still quivering and tense even underneath the grullo’s curious stare. Although her innerworkings are shielded from sticky fingers, Nayl is betraying her agitation with a hardened gaze and uneasiness in her stance. She exhausts herself daily by being a stone wall and shielding even her facial gestures, but she buckles in this rare moment. When her head turns, there is a fire lit behind her eyes. ”Djinni,” she notes as though just noticing the genie’s presence. The muscles lining her jaw contract and clench for a fleeting moment, relieving of pressure when a scent is wafted into her searching nostrils. ”I suppose just the musings and burdens of a Queen,” she lies convincingly although that can be seen as partially true. It’s normal to fret over a lost member of their herd. But apparently, he isn’t lost. His scent mingles thickly with Djinni’s. What boasted hatred they had at the last meeting seems to be a thing of the past now, a poor first impression. When Nayl breathes, he is all that she can smell, all that she can taste (or imagine tasting since she has yet to cave into her desires). She doesn’t acknowledge this, however, and now straightens her expression and sturdies herself. With a lungful of air – of him – Nayl composes herself and rolls her shoulders in a shrug. ”It has been a while,” she manages to say, ”what have you been up to?” Besides being with Stillwater, she restrains herself from saying. Nayl covet and myrina's creation