[If anything they're uncomfortably similar in too many ways to speak of. Both treasures, held close and kept beautiful, passed from hand to hand and never knowing the peace they so clearly ache for.

So they don't speak of it, except in these little ways, the slivers of understanding, the indulgences that only cause concern in the others.]

What a shame...

[An empty smile, a stale little laugh, and he turns towards repairs.]

If we cannot be dyed in red... or in black... then of course we must give in to their whims... right?

[Stay as the clean, pretty, prizes they were meant to be.]