Gideon is an absolute delight as a sparring partner. A nod acknowledges that. If she were doing her vow of silence act Sephiroth would really like her company. It always gives people the absolute wrong impression of her. The shadow cultist. The Ninth nun. Penitent of the Locked Tomb. Without Harrow threatening to off her, it hasn’t been worth it.

“You should have met me,” Gideon says. “I doubt you’d have bitten me more than Nonagesimus did. We tussled a lot. Scratching, kicking, biting. Biting was mostly her.” Perfectly childish behavior. Admittedly, her memories of other children was largely Harrow with the late additions of the Fourth and the creepy uncle. Jeanne-Mary had definitely been a biter.

Pushing her sunglasses farther up her face, Gideon considers that Sephiroth possibly has no equivalent name as Griddle. It’s the nonsense kind of name only children give each other. If Sephiroth only made friends as an adult, he’s out even more of something than Gideon is. It’s more than a nickname. It’s the whole of Gideon and Harrow mixed together to the point neither of them can break it, even when they both tried their hardest. They were in each other’s bones. “You’re due a friend like me,” Gideon says. “Super annoying and frustrating but there even when you do your worst. I’d prefer no biting, but it’s not a dealbreaker.”