No detail is forgotten. All are marked. All are filed away and kept close. But none are responded to, none followed up on. Not just yet. Because these are ancillary pursuits compared with her real reason for being here. Her unpredictability necessitated covering every base. Everything needed to be perfect for her. For

[b]Solarel![/b]

Mirror has handed you a rose, and that is a victory. She was holding it, though it did not go with her outfit, and under the pressure of your stare she gave it away without thinking. Without even a word. Flowers as a gift is on the whole a very Terenian custom, but in Hybrasil giving away anything when you have very little is considered a declaration of love on par with a wedding proposal. And it was not planned; you can see that by her snatching fingers just after, that she covers by quickly busying them with her ribbons. Long strokes.

< Go ahead and look. It is all for your benefit. >

[i]Now[/i] her fur darkens in her equivalent of a blush, where your eyes alone hadn't quite shaken her. She had not intended to sign in this conversation, but she defaulted to the stiff and over-rushed language she learned while she was your slave. Your comfort and your rules before her, and all because she lost a staring contest. You put your eyes where hers can't follow. She does not know what to do with that.

Speak Not, you told her. And she complied. But she has so much still to say. 

< Yes. For your benefit. Because it is all your fault. What am I meant to do? I owe. I owe. I owe. I owe. I serve. I serve. I serve. I serve. I cannot seem to fit my dreams inside my hands anymore. They have grown, and I have not. >

She has surrounded herself with other cats. If you have been keeping tabs on her in any way, you will know that these are her family. But plainly, none of them understand the language she is using to speak with you. Anything she expresses will be a secret kept from them, unless you chose to break the spell. That too is a victory. You are in control. She cannot help herself around you.

That's why she's never won. Not ever, at least in her mind.

< Are you. Doing well? Are you. Excited? Or are you. Like me? Because I >

Her hands go quiet, folding themselves placidly in front of herself. Fingers tucked in, claws politely hidden, a kind of meekness that's unbecoming of the woman who calls herself Mirror. Mira Fisher, however, was like this all the time. She has a secret. Or more accurately a concern. 

And she would like you to pry it out of her, if you can.