Chapter Text
There's only one person on the Boiling Isles who can make the Owl Lady blush, and they're deftly unwrapping her like she's a box of shockolate troubles topped with a bow.
("Time for dessert," Raine whispered in her ear after dinner, and Eda instantly became as red as the toemato soup they'd just finished.)
She shouldn't be embarrassed, she shouldn't — it's her, it's Raine — but once they remove that last bit of lace, she automatically hides her (still ginger) curls.
But Raine's eyes crinkle and look at her with such tender want, and — cheeks still burning — Eda moves her hand.
