Elle felt as if she couldn't breathe, and made an effort to put a little distance between herself and the angel. "The memory will not go," she hissed. "There is no sense in attempting to distract me."<br/><br/>She froze when Ghaleon's thumb passed over her mouth, unused to such familiar gestures. When the liquid touched her lips, a strange warmth spread over her body. Elle had partially lied--she<span style="font-style: italic">did</span>drink, when the occasional festival called for it, but never more than Fochiana's ceremonial wines or the odd ale. This was different. It did not have the burn of alcohol or the bitterness of fermentation. It was sweet like summer fruit and slid across her tongue with just as much savor. For a moment Elle didn't realize it had gone straight to her head in even the smallest amounts.<br/><br/>"What do you know," she sighed, though the tension in her arms that pushed her away from him began to ease, "about memories anyway? You're just trying to distract me from finding him." She lowered her head, her words already slightly smeared with an inebriated tint.<br/><br/>Elle did not often drink--mostly because the assassin was a complete lightweight.<br/><br/>Her metabolism burned through the alcohol like it was water, giving her more boldness. "E...Ethrael or no, you're still a man," she observed, pushing her fingers against his flesh to ensure that this was, in fact, the case. "And a man can be enslaved by power."<br/><br/>Elle peered up at him, her eyes gray and fathomless, verifying her own statement as she held his stare.