Mirror's claws are clipped short as a matter of practicality. Her daily life sees her working with too much thread, touching too many screens, and most importantly pressing too many buttons in too precise of sequence to give up even the momentary disorientation of a knife point where she doesn't expect one. For her inputs to be anything other than automatic while piloting would be terrible beyond imagination. 

It's a cat's choice to trim or to grow, as a matter of course. Fashion trends come and go, as they tend to. But it was rare to see another pair of hands with claws as clipped and blunted as Mirror's, wherever she went. They barely protruded past her fingertips in the first place, and since she favored tapping on hard surfaces over traditional meditative practices they weren't even the slightest bit sharp. No one ever judged her for it, of course. Not to her face. But it was never hard to notice the moment when another Hybrasilian saw them for the first time. The little finger twitch and the sudden burst of calculus that showed in their eyes while they worked out whether or not it was ok to ask if she was sick were very difficult to miss. And when they did, she would inevitably respond 'Oh, yes. Very. Thank you for noticing.' As if the conversation was a favor to her. 

But there are... advantages. Beyond the practical. Mirror's fingers are buried deep in Matty's thick hair to play at the base of her ears. She digs them deep and lets them trace circles and other, more intricate patterns on the back of her new partner's head, pressing her claw tips into the skin with gentle intimacy but nevertheless far greater force than a longer, more pointed tip could get away with. Long, soft strokes of her hair end in claws scraping the skin at the base of the neck, and instead of a sharp breath and a squeak or a tiny drop of blood, she is rewarded with the deepest and most full bodied purr. 

Matty turns boneless in Mirror's lap. She has to slide her other hand around Matty's butt and hold it firmly to keep her from sliding onto the floor. She listens to the gasp turn into a moan laced through with still deeper purrs, and feels the exact moment when her stubby, blunted claws erase all useful thought from Matty's brain. Just a flicker of the ears, a slight turning of her head, and then it's nothing but the sensation of facial muscles rearranging themselves into a wide smile as they push against the cushion of her breasts. Mirror's own purr is a quiet thing that can normally only be heard in very quiet rooms, but here it's immaterial. She joins this chorus of two, and as a pair they let their happiness seep into one another. 

Sometimes, a thing is simply meant to be. Sometimes, a connection forms more quickly than one could ever anticipate. Soft whispers of Good Girl and Sweet Little Willow join the purring as Mirror holds Matty safe and secure in her lap. This one, she thinks, might be worth the risk. This one can be sat down and explained to. They will both of them complete small corners of each others' puzzles, insignificant but essential. If. If, if, if. If she did it right. If she explained herself correctly, if she promised to keep this place on her routes, if she did not become absorbed in the other fragments of her life, if, if, if, if, if. If. If she could just be perfect, forever, then she would be allowed to this. A connection she had no idea she was missing, because it could only define it when it started to fill in. 

But for right this moment, she lets herself look past the future and over the top of Matty's head. Trosta watches her with an amusement that reminds her of Solarel only by how much the two of them contrast. Solarel would not find this exchange amusing, or likely even cute. She would become entranced by it, asking ten thousand questions about the ritual and how it could be applied to war. If Mirror's answers resonated with her, she might even take notes. And if she were asked about the question of payment and who she fought for...

"I fight with the blessings of Mother Hybrasil, yes," she says, still stroking Matty's hair and neck, "But this is a secret project. I promised them victory in the end, but the means are mine to achieve. It is not their business how I bind or free myself, and yet they will ask. The cost may be prohibitive, but I will take it onto myself. This is [i]my[/i] dream. My burden. I will carry it, and everyone who is part of it, by my own power.

Anything less would only prove me unworthy to be myself. Like your rod. The shape of our work will determine its end result. So I. Will preserve that. Break, bargain, or take what you will. I will not diminish. Does that..."

She trails off, and lets the question flutter away into the air around her.