All too suddenly, the air feels thick and oppressive. Emilia isn't caught in the room's spell, but she does sense its magic: force that attempts to sap what life-affirming thing exists within the walls, and without.
It pairs well with Wrathion's oncoming hesitation, and not for the first time this evening, consternation blooms in the low of her belly. She reaches for him again, fingers circling his wrist and giving a determined tug. She has strength one would not assume of her, all five feet and four inches of her.
"We leave," she repeats after him, intent on leading them to the lever.
"It's all he knows to do," the voice continues saying to Emilia, with the smoothness of a knife unsheathed. Except now it comes from all corners, booming. It means to wound. It means to sink claws into the dragon prince.
"He'll run, and he'll run, but will he make a wish first?"
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It pairs well with Wrathion's oncoming hesitation, and not for the first time this evening, consternation blooms in the low of her belly. She reaches for him again, fingers circling his wrist and giving a determined tug. She has strength one would not assume of her, all five feet and four inches of her.
"We leave," she repeats after him, intent on leading them to the lever.
"It's all he knows to do," the voice continues saying to Emilia, with the smoothness of a knife unsheathed. Except now it comes from all corners, booming. It means to wound. It means to sink claws into the dragon prince.
"He'll run, and he'll run, but will he make a wish first?"
Anything his heart desires.