[sweet words, and by all rights, she should dismiss them as unworthy reasons. not pressing enough to halt the flow of the world again, to hold its fate in limbo. the power of the runes needs to be aligned, and there is...

so much has to. so much needs to. it has been years upon years in the divine flow of time - others would consider it an age all its own - since the idea of want to was allowed to sprout under the moonlight. there is honesty in Rowan's gaze, and it pulls to her like a tide. it tells her, who would know? who would forbid it? her own nature will prevent her from abandoning duty forever, and it is her own nature that has driven her on, forward and forward, planning and plotting and thinking and trying so hard to uproot what was always rotted at the core.

no one could tell them no. it is only Ranni who can decide. and her heart, somewhere under dolls form and all the frost of her magic, says something so quiet, but so loud.

she takes a step closer to him, and then another.]

So, not only do you possess the crown of a lord, but the silver tongue of one as well.

[it's gentler, and her eyes remain on him.]

I concede. For the moment, the ascent is halted. Not for always, but for enough - that we might pass moments together, and see the Lands without the haste previously so required.