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The hug ends. Adarin will turn this over to his wife because he isn't sure how to handle this, anymore.

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"You know that's not fair, right?"

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"Yes," says Edarial. "But I can't rewrite my own head, do you want honesty or do you want me to lie to you? I can't fix it because it's convenient."

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"What did I say that sounded like 'lie to me'?"

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"I -"

Sigh. "Nothing. It's - it's my own head. All of this shit is my fucking head."
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"If you need her to help you with assumptions you're making about her - if it would help you if she told you every hour on the hour in so many words 'I don't hate you' - you could tell her that. She wants to make it work or she would already be making plans to move to my world with me. She will do reasonable things that are suggested as possible helpful steps if she knows how to actually do them."

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"... Okay. I'll try to think of things that will help."

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"But 'not being cold' isn't a thing she knows how to actually do, so it's sort of like thwacking her on the head if she goes left and thwacking her on the head if she goes right and never supplying her with a ladder to indicate that going up instead is even an option."

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Sigh. "I don't know what the ladder is, though."

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Isabella shrugs. "So you tell her that, and she will start figuring out how to fly."

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"Okay."

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Isabella flops on her husband. "Any questions about our likely-shared internal workings before she gets back, as long as she's stepped out anyway?"

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Edarial shakes his head. "No, thank you."
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Adarin snuggles his wife. "I think the more you think about it the worse it will be," he informs his alt.

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"I can't exactly turn my head off."

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"No, but - don't hover on it so much. There's - surely lots of projects for you to work on, switch to those, put the thoughts on hold."

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"And if you're sitting on any kind of assumption about her please turn it into a question instead of building up elaborate theories on top of it. She doesn't hate you. You'd know it in a dozen ways already if she did. If that assumption has any neighbors ask about them."

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Nod. "Okay. Thank you."

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"You're welcome."

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Presently Iobel lets herself back in, carrying six bowls and a bottle of vinegar. "This is apple cider vinegar, but if it has to be a different kind I can go out again."

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"Apple cider's fine." Isabella lays out the bowls and starts pulling stuff out of her portal bag.

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"Is there anything in particular you need me to do?"

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"When I've got something mixed up hold your arm out and stay still while I verse the ink in, that's all."

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"Oh, okay then. Easy enough."

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"Mm-hm!"

The first batch of ink is full of crushed bayleaves. She has a paintbrush for it in her portal bag. "All right, who's first?"
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