"I DIDN'T KNOW YOU PLAYED THE LYRE." WAS WHAT HE SAID TO HER FIRST AS THEY SAT DOWN ON THE NEAREST TABLE.
She blinked.
Of course, not to say that she hadn't been expecting it... expecting him. By the way he'd talked back at Good Hunter, she had assumed Diluc Ragnvindr to be something of a busy man. Him having enough time to drop by where she had set up temporary residence had not exactly been her idea of busy.
Not to say she didn't enjoy the presence of a new friend, though. That was part of her traveling: meeting new people, new friends, new acquaintances. People from all over scattered around, connections everywhere.
And this man, this time, was something of an intriguing friend. His cold demeanor melted by the fire that hung off the belt on his waist; his eyes not any fire but the fire, the everlasting flame of the sky known as the Sun; the man with no art but a muse. She'd done some background research on him, after he'd left. And by background research, she obviously meant a few trips to and fro around the city.
(Including not only the library but the taverns. Books could only tell you so much; it was the people who knew more than they let on. Gossip was, obviously, quite popular, and a glass of wine or two could loosen the mouth more than necessary.)
And what she had found was more than surprising to her: the young master (barely twenty-three; she'd expected him to be lying about his age) whom had inherited an entire estate and business from his late father (who had suffered a nasty accident), growing to become one of the most successful, influential and powerful men in Mondstadt. His face far outweighing the icy demeanor which he held.
Interesting, she thought. Interesting to say the very least.
"Well," She said, showing her hands to him- marked red and lined from the lyre strings she'd pressed them against- "I've played it for quite a long time. Five years? Six?"
"And singing?"
"That's a little more recent." He pulled out a chair for her and offered her a seat. She took it with a smile as he nodded at her and took a seat opposite where she was. "Two or three years, I think. A friend taught me. I haven't seen him in a long time, so I suppose I've neglected practice."
"It was..." He turned away. "Good."
Good. It sounded unfamiliar, coming from him. Unknowingly, the corners of her lips twitched upwards. "Oh?"
"Yes." He passed her something: the menu. "You have a beautiful voice. Quite talented, really."
"Thank you." She scanned over the food. "I'll have a Sticky Honey Roast. I'd considered becoming a bard, before, but I think I like writing better, don't you?"
He nodded in agreement, relaying the orders to Charles, before turning back to her. "You told me you're a... writer."
"Ye-es."
He stared at the back of his hand for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time, before his eyes seemed to flicker back to her out of mere impulse.
"I read your books."
Helena jolted at the cool voice. "Yes: the book I recommended you is quite a good one, isn't it?" Unless he was incredibly observant or had peered into the depths of her soul, there was no way he could know of such a thing. It was just her, acting uncomfortable with a secret she did not quite need to keep a secret anyways, because they would be seeing each other more and more.
She was his muse, and he was her artist.
"The book you recommended me." He tapped at the back of his hand. "It's yours."
YOU ARE READING
𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ; diluc ragnvindr
Romance𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ; She is his muse, his first breath, his morning star- an anomaly in the stillness of his life. She makes alcohol taste sweet, and small talk feel like verses of beautiful poetry. She is Helena Saturnalius, and she is his first an...
