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But Magilou is cackling and composing loud, over-dramatic poems to the lost castle of glass with the occasional interjection by Bienfu, and Eizen has given up arguing with Rokurou and is stubbornly building an identical new castle next to the old one with Laphicet's renewed help, and Velvet has pulled out a ledger and is going over their supplies and costs with a faint frown. Their group is rather more organized than Eleanor had ever expected.
She tries one more time to convince herself that she can't think of them this way, she has to remember that they're- they're daemons and pirates and malakhim, thieves and murderers and tools.
She knows she's failing, watching the light spark off the glassed castle, multicolored from Rokurou's shells, bright with scavenged sea glass, and not the sort of thing she'd ever expect her enemies to sit down and create. A sand castle isn't functional, or necessary, or strategic, or reasonable; it's just fun. It was only ever for fun.
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