[ From where she had fallen nearby, he'll be able ascertain an answer almost immediately, albeit not verbally. Quivering, her hands plant themselves on the ground as she pushes herself upward, and her chest heaves as an ugly cough grips her. The familiar taste of iron lingers upon her tongue.
Her gaze falls from the tombstone to the ground, and she goes absolutely still, shoulders locking with tension as if wrestling with her next action. The moment passes as swiftly as it had gripped her, and when it's over, her eyes lock upon him. ]
....What is Zodiark?
[ It's asked innocently enough, voice light and curious as a pheasant's feather falling from a tree. Rem cants her head to the side, once again narrowing her eyes at him in a puzzled manner, blinking, then tilting it the other way. As she brings herself upward, kneeling back upon her heels. The distant look of her gaze may give away she's not herself-- that, or how there's blood ignored at the corner of her lips-- and if not the expression she wears, then it's certainly how her hand raises toward him in the same graceful, practiced manner she uses to reap.
A fine, greyish mist begins to condense around them. It glimmers with crystalline lights that immediately wink back into nothingness. The question, it seems, means little to her. Much more important, suddenly, is the taking of his soul.
At last, the tombstone's effect upon her has reached its zenith. ]
no subject
Her gaze falls from the tombstone to the ground, and she goes absolutely still, shoulders locking with tension as if wrestling with her next action. The moment passes as swiftly as it had gripped her, and when it's over, her eyes lock upon him. ]
....What is Zodiark?
[ It's asked innocently enough, voice light and curious as a pheasant's feather falling from a tree. Rem cants her head to the side, once again narrowing her eyes at him in a puzzled manner, blinking, then tilting it the other way. As she brings herself upward, kneeling back upon her heels. The distant look of her gaze may give away she's not herself-- that, or how there's blood ignored at the corner of her lips-- and if not the expression she wears, then it's certainly how her hand raises toward him in the same graceful, practiced manner she uses to reap.
A fine, greyish mist begins to condense around them. It glimmers with crystalline lights that immediately wink back into nothingness. The question, it seems, means little to her. Much more important, suddenly, is the taking of his soul.
At last, the tombstone's effect upon her has reached its zenith. ]