As the pain in her shoulder fades she breathes out; her magic isn't back, not entirely, but the kindness that Gilgamesh had shown her made it feel as though it was trickling back, like drops of liquid from a tap. It wouldn't take more than a few hours, she thinks, and it's marginally less drastic feeling than the influence of the granite at Redgate.
Moving with Dorian is easier than laying herself on the ground covered in blood and even the barely-there trickle of fear that comes with the prospect of flying doesn't seem to rattle her; she's flown before, it makes her uncomfortable, of course, but there are worse things. She's experienced them - torture, pain, loss, death, the worst of all thinking that a part of her had enjoyed it. The lion part, the dangerous part, wanted more, to punish whoever thought they could attack her family and get away with it.
The beast is beautiful, absolutely amazing, and she's caught in a strange twist of awe before she moves and lets herself climb up, settles there and tries not to look down. There's still so much blood all over the lot of them and she can't do anything to clean it up, not in her state. Instead, she turns her attention to the King, her expression tight and unsure before she swallows.
"Thank you, Gilgamesh, for coming and helping." Her hand touches her shoulder again. Her voice is quiet, forlorn, and it's obvious just how tired she is. It's a bone-deep exhaustion and not one that she is likely to recover from any time soon. She doesn't want to be here, now, feeling herself shut down a little, drawing into herself, the doors closing.
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Moving with Dorian is easier than laying herself on the ground covered in blood and even the barely-there trickle of fear that comes with the prospect of flying doesn't seem to rattle her; she's flown before, it makes her uncomfortable, of course, but there are worse things. She's experienced them - torture, pain, loss, death, the worst of all thinking that a part of her had enjoyed it. The lion part, the dangerous part, wanted more, to punish whoever thought they could attack her family and get away with it.
The beast is beautiful, absolutely amazing, and she's caught in a strange twist of awe before she moves and lets herself climb up, settles there and tries not to look down. There's still so much blood all over the lot of them and she can't do anything to clean it up, not in her state. Instead, she turns her attention to the King, her expression tight and unsure before she swallows.
"Thank you, Gilgamesh, for coming and helping." Her hand touches her shoulder again. Her voice is quiet, forlorn, and it's obvious just how tired she is. It's a bone-deep exhaustion and not one that she is likely to recover from any time soon. She doesn't want to be here, now, feeling herself shut down a little, drawing into herself, the doors closing.