[ Six manages herself as best she can, steeling herself, forcing herself to be stoic and strong because it is all she knows. She thinks of her reaction when Adrian had fallen, when she had realised his spirit had been taken and she had no strength nor magic to return him to her arms, realising that there were no clerics nor diamonds or magics that might save him... She had dug a grave with her own hands.

Sometimes, she thinks she can still feel the crack of the mud under her fingertips, the pain of digging with bare hands, of feeling the ground open below her. She had bled into his grave, the scar of that wound still vibrant and flush across her back, and she had resisted the urge to crawl in alongside him. She had suffered so much, she thinks: she did not want to suffer more.

Frowning, she pauses to consider the nature of Adalia's devotion. She had chosen poorly and it had been her duty, as a Paladin of Sarenrae and her sister, to guide her back toward the light. She had failed in that, surely; seeing the two of them here, seeing their delight in one another's company... ]

No. [ Pursed lips, set, tight. Not one that Six is willing to offer any kind of worship to, at least. ] I believe they return to the arms of those who most touched them. I would hope that, if she had truly died, Adalia would be welcomed in Sarenrae's embrace.