[ If Nigel were properly capable of an emotion like love (he's much too selfish for it, missing the point of the sentiment completely) he would possibly feel it in a moment like this, surrounded by the chill of Saya's trophy room and the spectacle of all that she's capable of. These things, Nigel knows better than to touch; he simply walks among them, taking the time to observe and admire each one. He is mindful to note certain details; the color of an eye, the texture to a lock of hair. It's remembering these sorts of things that will make it easier for him to bring her more fitting presents in the future.
It makes Nigel think of the kings that knelt at the feet of knights and knights who in turn did great deeds for the glory of God. Nigel knows that Saya is nowhere near godlike and is not of any Holy Order, but he does know that they've been brought together through the workings of destiny and that there are few things he can consider more beautiful than her floor full of secrets. ]
Maraclea, [ he says, studying a particularly lovely eye. Nigel straightens and tips his head towards the ceiling, smiling to himself in a distant way. ] What I wouldn't do for your head.
➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores
It makes Nigel think of the kings that knelt at the feet of knights and knights who in turn did great deeds for the glory of God. Nigel knows that Saya is nowhere near godlike and is not of any Holy Order, but he does know that they've been brought together through the workings of destiny and that there are few things he can consider more beautiful than her floor full of secrets. ]
Maraclea, [ he says, studying a particularly lovely eye. Nigel straightens and tips his head towards the ceiling, smiling to himself in a distant way. ] What I wouldn't do for your head.