O: Sorry for lateness!
The scent was gentle, soft, and feminine, a sign that it wasn't the thistle king, which caused a slight relaxation, but didn't cause the dame any more comfort. Her form remained still, statue-esque, even, as though a lack of movement would disguise her presence. The voice that beckoned to her caused hark to fall back, nearly prompting her to weep in a trepidation for her health. However sweet that tune was, Wander was seeking some deeper meaning, mentally probing at the 'good morning' for any sign to validate her lack of trust.
It had taken her a moment more to realize her breath was caught in her throat, and that she was holding the air in her lungs, keeping it captive. Slowly, silently, she exhaled, bringing herself to her feet.
Hello, came a hushed response, nimble fingers knuckling at a blind, jade sight for a moment to prevent the welling tears from slipping through a weakly clung to visage of tranquility. The dame turned to the voice, face cast southwards in submission, hands grasping at one another. Milky cataracts shifted to the other woman silently, her 'good' left eye doing its best to examine the blurred form of the king's mistress.
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