Wrath
Presea misses her sister. But it's something she's learnt to live with and she doesn't think about it anymore. Stone covers her heart because otherwise nothing else would – if it didn't there would be blood and laughter in Osette, perhaps. Noone else would mind the blood, that's for sure, especially if it came from her. Presea doesn't want them to be happy though because they don't deserve to be and she isn't happy so they can't be happy. It's like a small chip in the stonework that's all ragged and spiky and sharp.
But Presea only feels it distantly.
It seems Presea's family is destined to have bad luck with men. Vharley and Altessa were brilliant stonesmiths, in more ways than one and Regal…Regal. Regal.
Presea hates Regal. He's a red blotch of pain on the wall – or at least that what's she'd like him to be. He's a destroyer and Presea hates him with everything that isn't spared on Altessa and Vharley and Cruxis. Presea often grips her axe with weathered, irritatingly young hands until her knuckles turn white and veiny and she can almost see the Regal-red on the blade.
Yet when she looks up and sees the blue, it reminds her that the stone isn't as solid at she'd like. Perhaps it's ice and perhaps it's melting. Though in what kind of red it's melting, she isn't sure. Whichever it is though, it's slowing the revenge and that's more than Presea can put up with.
Red versus blue versus pink versus grey.