"Redana..."

It catches in her throat before she realizes it's coming. A choke, a sniffle, and a single surprised shudder. Why? Why did this make her cheek wet? Why does it feel so..?

Bella is rooted in place. She is one with the mannequins, unable to move, made for modeling her pretty clothes and nothing more, forever. She closes her eyes and furiously rubs at her cheek until it finally comes back dry. She snarls until her breathing returns to normal. Control. Perfection. Lifetimes seem to pass in the attempt. And yet by the time Redana pats the ground, her feet are already moving. 

At first, she only stares down at Redana from on high. Her arms reach out automatically to seize the paper and the stylus. They stop before they get much beyond that first quick twitch. Enough that what she intended was obvious, but Redana doesn't even look up. Bella sinks down next to her and leans close enough to feel the little shifts and flourishes run down those lean, muscled arms. She lets her head slip close to smell Redana's hair, to smell flax and roses and feel the slow, steady rhythm of an olympic athlete's resting heart.

"...No. There's a sharper angle on that part. Do you see? It cuts... yes, more like that. And over here you, no, no, that's too dark. We'll forget the detail of sheerness of the material. Yeah, yes. Light strokes, that's perfect. I see it now..."

Her princess. Her useless, stupid princess. The one who never learned. The one who leaned on her for everything. The silly, stupid girl who insisted on dooming herself when she flung herself out into the middle of fucking nowhere with less than a prayer and nothing so much as resembling a plan... how did she grow so much? When did she find the time?

"You've been working hard."

It comes out all wrong. Her voice is unreasonable, harsh. Almost accusatory. 'You don't need me anymore' cuts across every word, sharper than her claws. Redana's body is strong and unflinching, and so, so warm. Now Bella's arm moves with a purpose that has nothing to do with taking over the gesture. Her mouth stops moving to offer advice. Arm around the shoulder, she breathes deep. 

And she purrs.

"I'm impressed. And I..." she stops, as if struck in the head by a sudden thought, "Write it down, please. 'To Bella. To Redana. Make these.' And, and something about where they're from. It's gonna take a while to finish, and I don't want to forget. Not this. Not you. Not..."