cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
There is an unguarded ache in the moment. A sweetness and a bitterness for all the things that could be and all the things that should have been. Even if Brazen is not the most intuitive of women, she can feel it in the moment. She can understand the bubble that rises in Brinly’s chest. She knows, because she feels it too.
But if wishes were horses…
The innocent comment on her horns is like acid spilled in her gut. She barely avoids flinching in response. She would never share the horrible things she had already done with these horns. The horrible things she had done to Brinly (she wasn’t real, but she had felt real). She would not poison what lay between them with her ghastly truth. Would not taint their trust with the knowledge that, when faced with death, there is little Brazen would not stoop to.
“Yeah.” The single word is her only response. But that simple syllable falls heavily enough there can be no mistake the price she had paid had been far too high.
The relief at hearing Brinly had not been harmed is immediate. Releasing a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, she allows her eyes to flutter briefly shut before opening them once more as Brinly pulls away. “Good,” she replies, blue eyes rising to meet hers with resolution. And if she had anything to say about it, it would remain that way.
But Brinly continues to pull away, her words falling like lead into the air around them. Immediately Brazen begins shaking her head. “No,” she says. Then again more firmly. “No.”
She shifts then, moving quickly to cut her off, blue eyes now bright with a fiery determination of her own. “Don’t go back. They won’t hurt me. Or Nerine. But I need to know you’re safe.” She presses closer again, planting herself between Brinly and the direction Pangea lies. “Please.”
Brazen