Who's Baby Is That?!

Irim. What is this one called? As Ragnar angled the baby towards him, she held the basket out. Only when his fingers curled around the basket handle, did she claim the snuffling infant from the man's arms. And promptly, without much thought, Devera covered herself with her cloak as she unbuttoned her shirt. As the child nursed, she considered Ragnar's words.

I'm not... an archdemon anymore. Not since our night together—the Blight ended. She stated, tapping her temple with one hand, I don't hear the madness anymore. Madness that had driven her to lead an army she didn't even like. Madness that was only lessened when she was placed into a mortal form. Madness that she feared would plague her for her entirity.

And yet, her mind was clear. Blue eyes peer up at her companion. You can say my name, you know. It won't stop them from hunting me. But you can say it. He'd never called her by her real name, not even after figuring out who she was. She's not heard her real name in years.

Adjusting the baby against her chest, she flashed a bright smile towards the warden. I care for you, silly human. She's never asked, what did he think of their time together. Why he thought it happened; and he's never asked if she had ulterior motives. She wasn't sure what she'd say.

In the moment, the alcohol had warmed her soul, and he'd been just as warm and welcoming. She'd been discovering what it felt like to be human. Now she's seen it all, hasn't she, surely?

I would like to stay a warden. Devera said, as if it were up for discussion.