The doorbell rings and it's "Good Morning, Rael"

Aegaeon's Core rests cool, cold in her hands (and so is the other, which means that it doesn't mean anything, but she'll put that aside, and be so brave, water and fire, opposites the greatest of friends), responding thankfully not at all to the nervous twitches her fingers take over each indecipherable rune that tracks over the undignified black-gray of each face.

If she ever finds herself somehow in station to meet the next Aegaeon, it'll be the most uncomfortable encounter she ever has with stuffy authority and ceremony.

He'd made formality a friend to her, but...every dream ends.