( the existential crises of being a rifter are many and varied—

gwenaëlle is not entirely as unsympathetic to them as she appears. maybe not as sympathetic as her many close relationships to rifters have led to a reputation for, either, but who doesn't contain multitudes these days. )

Before all this, ( with a light gesture of her left, dully-green glowing hand, ) I'd been a poet and a debutante, a courtier,

( 'socialite' would be pushing it; if she could make it through an evening without having to actually speak to anyone, that had been a win in val royeaux, )

and about half of these recipes I'd got the hang of back then.

( so, you know. cake walk, probably. the punchline is no one thought very much of her back then, but it's subtle enough that she doesn't hear the disapproving sound of loxley's voice in the back of her head, wishing she wouldn't do that. )

But it did mean my primary skill upon arriving to the war effort was writing things down; you'll get bored of my handwriting before I run out of things I can lend to you, if you're interested.