"Swooning: an art form perfected by many and absolutely butchered by Seilorah."
“I’m telling you, this time he’ll crack,” Seilorah said, pacing back and forth near the edge of their camp. Her plan for round two of “Operation Damsel” was, in her mind, flawless.
Yelle leaned against a tree, munching on a piece of dried fruit. “Uh-huh. Because the tree thing worked so well.”
“It worked enough,” Seilorah snapped, though her tone lacked conviction. “I just need to be more convincing.”
“Right,” Yelle said, stifling a laugh. “Convincing.”
This time, Seilorah had a grander scheme. No more trees or obvious setups. She would go for subtlety—well, as subtle as one could be while fainting dramatically in front of their least favorite cursed companion.
“Are you sure about this?” Yelle asked, though her grin betrayed her amusement.
“I have to try,” Seilorah said, determination flickering in her eyes. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“Zeyro calling you out for being terrible at swooning,” Yelle quipped.
A few minutes later, Seilorah stood near the campfire, pretending to look weak and unsteady. She clutched her chest theatrically, staggering slightly. Zeyro, seated nearby and sharpening one of his blades, didn’t even glance up.
“Here we go,” Yelle whispered from her hiding spot, barely containing her laughter.
Seilorah took a deep breath and let out a faint, “Oh, no…” before crumpling to the ground in what she hoped was a graceful heap. Zeyro’s blade stopped mid-sharpen. He turned his head slowly, his expression blank as he observed Seilorah lying dramatically on the ground.
“Really?” he asked, his voice flat.
Seilorah cracked one eye open. “Really what?” she mumbled, trying to sound weak and breathless. Zeyro sighed, standing up and sheathing his blade. “If you’re going to faint, at least commit to it. That was embarrassing.”
Before she could protest, he scooped her up effortlessly, cradling her as if she weighed nothing.
“What are you doing?” Seilorah asked, her cheeks flushing.
“Carrying you back to camp,” Zeyro replied, his tone exasperated. “Apparently, you’ve forgotten how legs work.”
Yelle’s muffled laughter from the bushes only made the situation worse. As Zeyro walked toward her tent, he began a running commentary in his signature monotone.
“Step one of a convincing faint: don’t announce it beforehand. Nobody swoons with a heads-up.”
Seilorah groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he replied calmly. “Step two: fall like you mean it. That little wobble was pathetic.”
By the time he reached her tent, Seilorah was ready to bury herself under the blankets and never come out.
“Step three,” Zeyro continued, setting her down gently, “learn how to breathe dramatically. You sounded like a deflating balloon.”
“Are you done?” she snapped, her face burning.
“For now,” he said, smirking. Yelle chose that moment to make her grand entrance, clapping sarcastically.
“Bravo, Seilorah! That was chef’s kiss perfection,” she said, doubling over with laughter. “I don’t know what was better—your faint or his commentary.”
“I’m never listening to you again,” Seilorah muttered, glaring at Yelle.
“Oh, come on,” Yelle said, grinning. “You’ve got to admit, it was hilarious.”
Zeyro leaned against the tent pole, crossing his arms as he watched them with mild amusement. “So, what’s next? Are you going to pretend to fall into a well? Maybe get ‘trapped’ under a rock?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Seilorah said through gritted teeth.
“Please, do,” Zeyro replied, smirking.
Yelle snorted. “You two are like a comedy duo. I should start charging admission.”
As the evening wore on, Seilorah found herself replaying the moment in her mind, both embarrassed and begrudgingly entertained. For all his infuriating smugness, Zeyro had a way of making her laugh—albeit unintentionally.
“Maybe I’ll get it right next time,” she muttered to herself, poking at the campfire.
“Unlikely,” Zeyro said from his seat nearby, clearly having overheard her. She threw a stick at him.
Despite her irritation, Seilorah couldn’t deny that something had shifted between them. The banter, the teasing—it was almost... fun.
But she wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Ready for round three?” Yelle asked later that night, her eyes sparkling mischievously.
“Absolutely not,” Seilorah replied, though she couldn’t help but smile.