ipseite: (091)
𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖊 ([personal profile] ipseite) wrote in [personal profile] mactears 2017-08-31 09:02 am (UTC)

breakfast.

( Rising habitually before dawn, Petrana doesn't oblige him to wait for her on the ramparts - and she brings her own breakfast, as she might as well. His shirts are...

Well. The folded bundle that she offers him, still carrying the trace scent of the lilac-water she wears habitually, is not the same as the one he handed to her a few days before. They are shirts, certainly. They are even blue, if of a slightly different shade, deeper around the seams from an inexpert but well-set dye. They will fit him as well as the previous ones did, having been sewn from their shape; they have definitely been newly sewn. It is the neat, precise stitching of a lady accustomed to making and repairing her husband's shirts, and on one of the collars she'd been unable to help herself and embroidered a design clearly alluding to the Wardens' sigil; rather less fine fabric than what she must have worked with previously.

Rather suspiciously alike to the sheets on most of the Gallows beds, actually. )


Your shirts.

( There's a glint in her eye; a hint of challenge. Go on, sass her about it. She burned the other ones. )

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