So here she was, holding Elias' sticky, paper-covered sword AGAIN, laughing, both to prove that she didn't mind holding cold iron, but also because it was genuinely pretty funny that he'd left the honey and confetti on it after she'd dunked it.
The Herald looked angry (understandably), and Mae and Donovan looked uncomfortable (well, MAE looked uncomfortable - Donovan looked cryptic as usual) as she giggled and swung the unwieldy iron sword around.
The one time, the ONE TIME she had accidentally dropped the stupid freaking thing in front of people, everyone assumed she was a fae. No amount of checking her gnosis or testing her knowledge or seeing her in Crinos had been enough to convince them. And now, no matter HOW MANY TIMES she held it and swung it and gritted her teeth and smiled as it burned her, froze her, stung her hand - they just ignored her.
It was like getting an ice cream headache from ice cream that also tasted terrible. Or sticking your hand in snow and leaving it there until you got frostbite, except it never went numb, just kept aching and stinging and leeching away your warmth until your bones hurt and you just want to break the stupid thing instead of letting it hurt you more, and WHY do people even WANT to have cold iron weapons in town, it's RUDE and they HURT and no-one ever even NOTICES when I manage to pick it up without flinching so what's the POINT -
She sighed. Now other people had noticed her antics, telling her to put the sword down. FINALLY. She gingerly set it back on the table with a guilty smile, and kept chattering in her ebullient, annoying way, drawing attention to her face, and away from the fact that she was rubbing her invisibly gloved hands together under the table, trying to squeeze away that lingering, bone-deep cold.
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