[ She's only watching it as it happens, the colors and magic swirling and shifting and melting into one, like a maelstrom painted so that one might see only the most powerful torrents of the storm-- the potion, and the essence of her fire, fed back from him and into the mixture. The flask becomes red, and it's capped before it overfills with a soft crackle of magic. Pyra jumps a bit where she's seated as if woken from a trance, not having noticed she was so enthralled in the making of the flask. ]
That's...
[ She's about to say something of her usual sort-- amazing, incredible, and so on-- when she just happens to turn just enough to look at him. As his head is resting over shoulder, she only sees his profile. But it's the glow of his eyes that captivates her now.
...She likes his blue eyes. She truly does. But there's something so mystical and mysterious about that fuchsia hue, like ancient quartz glowing from within, or the distant, silent nebulae of a stellar nursery, waiting to collapse and begin again. ] ...Beautiful.
1/2
That's...
[ She's about to say something of her usual sort-- amazing, incredible, and so on-- when she just happens to turn just enough to look at him. As his head is resting over shoulder, she only sees his profile. But it's the glow of his eyes that captivates her now.
...She likes his blue eyes. She truly does. But there's something so mystical and mysterious about that fuchsia hue, like ancient quartz glowing from within, or the distant, silent nebulae of a stellar nursery, waiting to collapse and begin again. ] ...Beautiful.
[ ..... ]