Dress
His reaction was worth a few pints of Vkyruls' blood. The crimson-iron black of the silk dress may have even been cast in vats of boiling, angry Northern blood, for all she knew. She cut, scraped, mined, and carved things: sewing pretty dresses was not her skill. The silhouette revealed more than it protected. Who was it that said the space between the notes made the music? The siren dress sang its audience to succumb.
The tone of the day was revelations: her priest demonstrated his ability to hold her in leaps of faith. The dress box gave the prize it promised. And jovial crowds flexed and sported in sunny courtyards. She also found a place, right outside the Keep's courtyard, a ledge, where she could sit undisturbed, watching the far sails swirl on the maelstroms, and the comings and goings of the human kingdoms, small and large. To end the day, he showed her uninhabited pockets, hidden right in front of everyone's eyes, down alleyways and behind shops. That surprise delighted her: she could show him the dress, and leave an image with him—for with all the day's seeming control by the inhabitants of this world, she felt the gods shuffling fate's cards. Flicking the two of hearts in a cup.
Time was up. The cathedral bells rang. The boat would be departing soon. She leaned in, he thought for a kiss, but she gently bit his cheek. This ginger aggression surprised him. He was so strong that moment: he held her, and then let her go. She may have bitten him, but he bit her back. He meant what he said. He could not control the gods, but he could control himself.
He may have thought he saw tears, but it was only a trick of the afternoon light through the other portal.
After he left, she went home to the lakes and streams of Azuremyst. She lay near the water's edge, as much as she could get in the warm stream, and slept deeply for the first time in weeks. She was a survivor, too.