[Iskierka cocks her head to one side, watching this reaction to what she's written. She is (too small, not enough) not quick to process without her Sleeper present; she is part of a soul that has been ripped to pieces and gutted of its sensibility of itself.
There is a feeling that should be here. The Omen struggles to wrap herself around it, to fit it inside a chest too narrow for it.
She takes mincing steps to the edge of the desk. She drops off it in a flicker of feather and scale, landing beside the two stricken boys.
Careful, considering, she stretches up, reaching to rest a hand on one pale head and one dark. She is not very much but she is, also, here.]
no subject
There is a feeling that should be here. The Omen struggles to wrap herself around it, to fit it inside a chest too narrow for it.
She takes mincing steps to the edge of the desk. She drops off it in a flicker of feather and scale, landing beside the two stricken boys.
Careful, considering, she stretches up, reaching to rest a hand on one pale head and one dark. She is not very much but she is, also, here.]