[ His fingers trace the last of the runes onto the trellis, their glowing strokes vanishing seconds later. Stone remembers longer than wood and he is not interested in permanence.
At the sound of Wanda's voice, he looks over his shoulder and arches a brow, appraising -- her. The way she naturally fits in the doorway and wears the elvish robes, as if she has always lived in this place. There's a sense of serenity despite his caution; he finds himself relaxing, lips tugged upward, a leisurely warmth in his chest. ]
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At the sound of Wanda's voice, he looks over his shoulder and arches a brow, appraising -- her. The way she naturally fits in the doorway and wears the elvish robes, as if she has always lived in this place. There's a sense of serenity despite his caution; he finds himself relaxing, lips tugged upward, a leisurely warmth in his chest. ]
You fit right in.