[ under his touch, Rudbeckia allows herself to relax, her trust sincere and serene for once. her eyes fall shut and she leans into Set's hand; with all the tension gone from her body, all the parts of herself she keeps such a tight grasp on gone slack – her face seems to belong to someone deeply exhausted, not scared but lonely, and terribly sad. still, her mouth twists into a smile, and she releases a wet laugh. ]

You're going to turn me into a spoiled brat...

[ it's terrifying, letting herself be this greedy. wanting something, knowing that it can be taken from her so easily, that she could lose it through her own fault—it makes her feel sick. is this the best she can do? muster up the courage to leech off somebody else's kindness, unable to reciprocate in any way that matters? ahh. she's such an awful, twisted person.

but Set is so warm. these feelings are so warm. and she— ]

I like you. [ whether it's something she sends herself or a bleed that cannot be helped when their minds entangle so readily, there is a whisper of that love in Communion, the sensation of a heart full to aching. ] I mean it. I don't just want to stay with you because you're a god, or because I'm relying on you... I really, really like you.

[ she's still too afraid of the word love, having spoken it so many times in falsehood to soothe a predator, and fearful that it will be rejected the one time she presents it earnestly. ]