poet nd wormwood's conversation was unimportant to the brutish male. he merely continued to stand before the collection, identifying what he could until a bundle of yellow flowers were pushed his way. his eyes slowly moved from them and he lifted his head to make eye contact with poetking. were these for him? he could not tell if they were given out of politeness, appeasement, or both. such strangers these brothers were.

when moth came to sit beside him, he pulled the flowers closer to him and offered her what was given to him. mikolaj's house was barren of anything that could keep the bouquet alive anyhow. sunlight was a rarity as his windows remained boarded shut. there was nothing for him to put them in with water. besides... yellow was a nice color for the girl.

"pretty?" he repeated to her, brows furrowed as he looked down to moth. he paused for a moment before nodding his head. "pretty."

"SPEECH"