my skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.
He chuckled. He was a spirit, but hadn’t exactly acted like a fantastical mythological being in some time. To her he would just look like a boy with a staff. All was fine, he didn’t need to appear as exquisitely decorated as in the fables that depicted him.
“Mhm, the Spirit of Winter.”
“—–Oh.”
That seems to be the only intelligible thing she can say to that; confusion etched into porcelain features. Asami doesn’t know much about Spirits beyond what she’s learned off of Korra. And that, in itself, is very little. Still, he’s the most human one she’s seen so far. He looks as almost like a civilian off the streets.
She shifts. “So—- you’ve been stalking me.”
