The door opens with the cold, deliberate click of some advancing spider. Isaac's face draws thin, expression and posture composed as though this is merely an unwelcome surprise and not an occasion for deadly alert —
(It does not match the bloodless pale of his face, or the precise way his fingers are crooked toward casting: Tangling already for the webbed strands of sleep.)
His eyes fall first on the trunk, its top layer of linen unrumpled, then Edgard beside. It takes it out of him. Exasperation,
"What the fuck," Isaac slams the door the rest of the way open. "Are you doing in here?"
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The door opens with the cold, deliberate click of some advancing spider. Isaac's face draws thin, expression and posture composed as though this is merely an unwelcome surprise and not an occasion for deadly alert —
(It does not match the bloodless pale of his face, or the precise way his fingers are crooked toward casting: Tangling already for the webbed strands of sleep.)
His eyes fall first on the trunk, its top layer of linen unrumpled, then Edgard beside. It takes it out of him. Exasperation,
"What the fuck," Isaac slams the door the rest of the way open. "Are you doing in here?"