[If she asks him (and she hasn't, but they have sort of come around to it), it doesn't. It doesn't matter, because she is no longer there, and she is no longer with him. Who is to say who they would be if their circumstances weren't entirely different?
There could be a world where he was not a bard. He could have been a cold-hearted noble, who had servants toiling his fields until they dropped dead, working the vineyards until their feet and hands bled, or the plague took them all.]
It's a terrible power, being right all the time. [His smile at her is an intentional one, but no less sweet for it. She even gets a laugh out of him as flour clouds up around him from where it'd clung to his hair.
He's a mess. But he feels, in the moment, very much like her mess.] What do you say to my cleaning myself up, and we go somewhere a bit less... [Depressing?] Dusty? We both could use the sun.
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There could be a world where he was not a bard. He could have been a cold-hearted noble, who had servants toiling his fields until they dropped dead, working the vineyards until their feet and hands bled, or the plague took them all.]
It's a terrible power, being right all the time. [His smile at her is an intentional one, but no less sweet for it. She even gets a laugh out of him as flour clouds up around him from where it'd clung to his hair.
He's a mess. But he feels, in the moment, very much like her mess.] What do you say to my cleaning myself up, and we go somewhere a bit less... [Depressing?] Dusty? We both could use the sun.