GODSENT | reyge

2-2; no puedo convencerte

She's almost lost the tenderness in her hands. Not that it's something important or necessary to her now, but she can't help but wonder—sometimes—where the little girl who had hidden behind the white coat of a tall scientist had gone. Oh, she used to be terrified, to fear the way her powers only knew how to take and keep taking till there's nothing left.

But hatred, resentment, and anger are funny things.

Reyna almost cracks the unshaped shrapnel of wood in her hands. Skye glances pointedly at her, before continuing her demonstration — something about routing or the other. Reyna's honestly too tired to care.

Sage is somehow paying rapt attention, back straight, brows furrowed in concentration as she follows the movement of Skye's scalpel. The way she holds the wood piece carefully between her hands...that tenderness, gentleness, as if she were holding a life in her very hands — Reyna used to be able to do just that.

Now, her hands grasp triggers ever too readily, too prepared to take souls, crush bones, spill blood. And, what's different now: she loves it.

"Nimble hands, nimble minds!" Skye chirps encouragingly, hands on her hips, and she looks in Reyna's direction, at the pathetic piece of wood in her hands. Even Yoru's is starting to take shape. There's a strange silence that's blanketing his side of the long table, as he appears to be earnestly trying to make something of the useless bark between his fingers. Omen is beside him, already done with his flower, impressively so. Even the spectre has a way with his hands despite his threatening demeanour.

"This is quite relaxing." Sage works her scalpel down the sides of the wood, gently scraping off the undesirable layers to her figurine. That was what they were supposed to be doing at least, trying to make a wooden flower. Reyna has stopped caring, though. It's almost distracting — how Sage's pale, slender fingers can cradle the skeleton of something that has the potential to be beautiful—no, it will be something beautiful under Sage's touch. Reyna knows this as fact.

She's everything Reyna isn't. An angel with the ability to bring life to anything she touches.

"Just about as relaxing as tearing the skin off bone," Reyna quips, seeing if she can draw a ruse from her antithesis.

Sage doesn't respond immediately, too absorbed in trying to make grooves into the petals of her flower. "And just about as simple, too."

Her eyes flit over to Reyna's sorry-looking sample. Normally, Reyna wouldn't care less, but some spark of competition wills her to pick up her scalpel and return to chipping at the sides of the wood.

"Not like that," Sage says disapprovingly, moving closer. "Be a little more gentle."

Frowning, Reyna brings the wood closer to her, till the roughness of the bark brushes against the tip of her nose. Her fingers grip the scalpel a little tighter, and, in as much concentration and control of her muscles as she can muster, brings it down.

A corner of wood chips off.

Sage is giggling softly—giggling, like she can't possibly get any cuter—and she stifles it behind a hand when Reyna turns to glare half-heartedly at her.

"Maybe I was not meant to do this, cariño," Reyna says dryly. She could have still been in bed, getting more beauty sleep.

Sage laughs a little more, but then she's shifting, and her hand is coming over to rest on Reyna's own, gently tugging so that the wood hangs in the small space between them.

And Reyna can only watch as Sage guides her limp hand slowly, the warmth of her smaller, loose grip drifting in and out between Reyna's knuckles as she helps carve out a single petal, the wooden shrapnel peeling and falling like the walls of Reyna's heart onto the newspaper covered table.