The parade of worship in the neighborhood had brought back the old needs, and she hadn't seen any pressing reason to resist. Lear, she knew, was safe in their brother's care. Fen, she knew, was equally safe in Lear's keeping. She'd checked on them briefly, without entering, after that cacophany of lights and sound and adoration had drenched her soaked, and then she'd gone.
She went home. Not to anywhere cold and reeking of fate. She went to the warmth, as Nel always did when her appetites were up and needing to be slaked. The island was verdant, and the sand beneath her feet was fine grains and tactile silk between her bare toes. Here, she kept her youthful form. In truth, this was how she'd been when she'd ceased to age. Destiny had grabbed her by the ankle, and she'd kicked it off with a vigor not expected from anyone, and then she'd made a choice not to be a girl anymore. Aging was just a shift, a thing inherited from a father she'd never met, but it was safer to ensure Repose knew death was pale girl that rode no pale horse—just in case.
When she returned, she could sense her siblings in her home. Down upon a couch, she suspected, and they felt fine. Angry, tired, but that was nothing out of the ordinary, and she was returning quite slaked and sated.
No one would've seen the girl that entered the annex to the photography studio all dressed in spotless white, but she was visible to her brothers as she pushed open the door and entered the space. The shifting was silken and smooth, accomplished while crossing the vast floor. The girl they'd known in their youth became the woman she was now, and the white dress was exceptionally incongruous with the jut-forth cant of her hips.
She perched herself upon the arm of the couch her siblings shared, feet upon the cushions and thighs spread in defiance of that flimsy white fabric. She leaned, and she claimed the stolen cup from between Lear's fingers. Her own swallow was long and without apology, and she handed the glass back to Fen with fingers that still retained the scent of salt and blood. "Who are we killing today?" she asked, having caught the trail of their conversation on the wind. Near was given a lift of icy brow, accompanied by a touch of fingers under his chin. "You can keep that." The robe. As for Fen, she turned her head and caught his gaze. "You require soothing, brother."