[ a tension she ought to feel, but doesn't—if not for her own poor perception, then because she herself is so tense. this is Sprezzatura being tactful, unfortunately, even if her stomach clenches at the sadness in Iris' little face. something as simple as that: that London would be afraid, it hurts for her to think about. Sprezzatura hasn't even said anything about the many, many newborn tieflings who lived only long enough to draw one or two breaths.
and she won't. she will never speak of that again.
but it does linger over her, forever, like a malaise. in a place like Reverie, Herlock had no choice but to accept what was laid out in front of him. he may have told Iris stories, and she may delight at the idea of such an unusual woman ensnaring her daddy like this, but she's still just a girl from London. devils are a different beast here, but they're still beasts. ]
no subject
and she won't. she will never speak of that again.
but it does linger over her, forever, like a malaise. in a place like Reverie, Herlock had no choice but to accept what was laid out in front of him. he may have told Iris stories, and she may delight at the idea of such an unusual woman ensnaring her daddy like this, but she's still just a girl from London. devils are a different beast here, but they're still beasts. ]
She won't like it.