Beside the forge three barefoot children balanced on a toppled barrel, each trying to outscream the other as they belted a tavern ditty newly minted by some clever busker:
"The lightning man came with a storm in his fist,
He kissed the Queen's ghost and vanished in mist!"
Their voices cracked on the high note; the smallest boy flung his arms wide in an exaggerated swoop, nearly pitching into the quench bucket. His friends yanked him back, laughing. Ash gleamed on their cheeks like war paint. Lyan winced—part amusement, part sting of recognition.
Lilith will love that verse, he thought, and sure enough her velvet chortle fluttered inside his skull.
(I might commission sheet music,) she purred.
(Absolutely not,) Arturia huffed, flustered.
(Do the lyrics specify which kiss? Asking for accuracy,) Cynthia teased, halo bright with mischief.
