Zacrae
Soothing the fears of the people was a long and arduous task. While Abraham did his best, the recent death of Feaya's oracle could be felt rippling throughout the kingdoms. Their kingdom, especially. Cazrae, on the other hand, was thriving in all the fear and chaos their deaths had sewn. It was enough to give Zacrae a splitting headache.
The pale woman had her head resting on one of her hands when Abraham spoke words she almost missed entirely. "Hm?" she questioned. "Oh, oh yes! Yes, I do think we're calming their fears." The woman gave a radiant smile, and set her hand on the knee of her oldest, closest friend. "Even if we've found nothing out, please rest easy in knowing your efforts have eased the hearts of your people, My Lord."
Poor Abraham. He was tired at the best of times; she could only imagine what the strain of recent events had on him. Even she was tiring, though for different reasons. For every group of Faith angels they encountered, Zacrae had used her own special kind of magic to ease their worries while Abraham worked tirelessly. She had taken the crowd's fears into herself--perhaps this was the cause of her headache?
"Abraham," she crooned, shifting closer to the older man. "You look so tired, dear. Let me help..." She brushed a hand up his arm, and cupped his cheek with her warm hand. His feelings of unease flowed into her; the nerves, the fatigue, the annoyance. Zacrae felt herself straining as she pulled her hand away, blue eyes half lidded as Abraham's fatigue became her own.
With a gentle sigh and a smile, Zacrae breathed, "There," as she smoothed out the gown on her lap. "If you'd like, lay your head down and rest for a while. You desperately need it."
Her head throbbed, and she bit back to urge to wince in reaction, instead moving to massage one of her temples.
"Please, My Lord. Rest. Your people need you strong."
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