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The feel of small digits trailing along a particularly prominent scar upon right arm sparks a shiver to crawl down spine. The assassin is hyper-aware to the girl’s gaze, glued to the curving line of pearly tissue. The look is one of curiosity, and Ira can’t help but imagine how drastically the expression she wears would change if she were to show Emily the opposite limb.
They are silent for the most part, golden optics glued to the elegantly scripted words of a book, whilst her companion continues to explore and touch injuries long since healed. But, this marks the fourth time fingers slip along the imperfections, and brows knit.
It’s not until the girl speaks, however, that gaze detaches from the words on parchment to look up at her.
How'd you get this?Without removing indicated arm from the young Empress’ grasp, Ira shifts in her seat, moving closer. For but a moment, lips are pressed into a tight line, optics narrowed at it. Features then soften, and she releases a sigh from maw.
❝That was before I came to Dunwall. If I remember correctly, I was in my nineteenth year. One of my comrades turned against me, and challenged me to a duel.❞
Petals purse upon pallid visage, calloused fingertip tracing the scar as she speaks of its past.
❝He sabotaged my sword beforehand, so during the duel it broke when he brought his own down hard upon the blade. His sword got stuck in my arm afterwards.❞
Falling silent, one’s irises hold a far-off glaze, as if picturing the very thing she speaks of. It takes the next inquiry to snap her back to reality.
What happened after?Shortly after words are spoken, lips twist upwards into a dark smile, and Ira leans back in her chair. One leg is crossed so elegantly over the other, eyes returning to the book.
❝His name was Dravis, and I gouged his eyes out with my broken sword.❞