[ dextera wants to just turn and run. it seems like the thing that would save him more surely than anything else, but there’s also some strange sense of obligation he has to that glare. he’s no stranger to an uncertain need to apologize—he doesn’t know what he did, but he’s sure she’ll tell him if he approaches.
the more he can get off his shoulders, the better. ]
…
[ head down, he approaches her, and the first thing he impresses upon her through his shard is— ]
no subject
the more he can get off his shoulders, the better. ]
…
[ head down, he approaches her, and the first thing he impresses upon her through his shard is— ]
I’m sorry.