runecasting is an art

[dark_light]

It's about forty-five minutes before Isabella has a first draft of the spell.

She starts sugaring it onto her floor. (She kept one tiny cornucopia; better to own a single magic device than to have to keep a whole stock of herbs. She can learn to work around its reluctance to produce poisons, or just carry the common toxics with her.) Path goes up to the attic to ask if Kas and Petaal want to watch her cast.

Comments

[dark_light]

Path chooses this moment to hoot a low, sad, neglected hoot. He can only touch two of the three other bodies in the room and if they're going to be all tangled up he gets no snuggles at all. (And bird bones are fragile, anyway.)

[truthwright]

"Oh, sweetie," says Petaal, breaking away from her attempt to gently devour Isabella's face and pressing one last quick kiss to the corner of her mouth before she shifts linsang and bounds over to Path to administer urgent cuddles.

Kas laughs, a little shakily.

[dark_light]

Isabella half-falls back into him while Path snuggles up to Petaal. Daemons snuggling still gives feedback, if less intensely. Their souls are, after all, touching.

Kisses. Kisses and the undoing of knots.