[I sense a lot of mythical beasts around.]
Hearing that Lucavion glanced sideways. "And?"
[Most of them are asleep. Domesticated. Suppressed. Some barely even realize what they are anymore.] Her voice lost some of its casual edge, a flicker of old disdain bleeding through. [And the ones who do? They keep their auras sheathed so tightly they may as well be furniture.]
Lucavion leaned back, setting the empty cup down. "Sounds like nobles."
[Sounds like fear,] she corrected. [And conditioning. You can tell a lot about a society by how it treats its strongest.]
He said nothing for a moment. Then, "And what does it say about us?"
[You're indoors, drinking tea.] She rolled back onto her stomach, chin resting on her paws. [You tell me.]
Lucavion let out a short exhale that might have been a laugh, if one was generous.
"Comfort is a kind of captivity," he said absently. "The chains just happen to smell like honey and clean linen."
[And that's why you don't let yourself rest.]
