02-08-2021, 01:41 AM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
She does nothing to hide her confusion at the onslaught of arrowed words he directs at her. If she were made of weaker things they would have landed their marks, would have lodged immediately into the flesh of her ribs and broken through her breastbone. They would have left her bleeding on the ground, pleading for forgiveness from a sin she does not remember committing. But years upon years of strange abuses and twisted romances has left her hardened to certain things, and there were so few that could bring her to her knees (a dark god that she would do most anything to stay in the good graces of, and a yellow-eyed panther king that could end her with a cold word if he ever so wished).
And so she is confused but not hurt, because mostly she has learned to never be surprised by the harsh words that come from his mouth. She had learned that day in the cave of Nerine that even at her most vulnerable he would never expose himself; he was a fortress that not even she could breach the walls of, and with too many other castles willingly offered to her, she did not see a reason to keep trying. She is rooted here by the last shreds of her morality, gray and flimsy though they may be. She could never leave him bleeding and injured, no matter the venomous curses he spat at her.
There was still, after all, a piece of herself that would always be his. She had given it to him willingly—had born children that she loved mostly because they were theirs, pieces of himself that she managed to steal and hoard since he would never do it on his own. He has cast her aside time and time again, but never could she bring herself to do the same.
That small piece of herself that ached to see him like this, and it brings her forward.
“You have never been a waste of my time,” she tells him with a perplexed frown, trying to remember if ever there had been a time that she grew so bitter that she would say something like that to him. It didn’t sound like her, and she decides that perhaps he is confused by fever and pain. “Let me heal you,” she says imploringly, though she does not dare to take another step forward. She simply watches him from where she stands, her worry illuminated by the glow of her halo, her eyes tracing a path over the strange wound and biting back the urge to ask again what had caused it.
And so she is confused but not hurt, because mostly she has learned to never be surprised by the harsh words that come from his mouth. She had learned that day in the cave of Nerine that even at her most vulnerable he would never expose himself; he was a fortress that not even she could breach the walls of, and with too many other castles willingly offered to her, she did not see a reason to keep trying. She is rooted here by the last shreds of her morality, gray and flimsy though they may be. She could never leave him bleeding and injured, no matter the venomous curses he spat at her.
There was still, after all, a piece of herself that would always be his. She had given it to him willingly—had born children that she loved mostly because they were theirs, pieces of himself that she managed to steal and hoard since he would never do it on his own. He has cast her aside time and time again, but never could she bring herself to do the same.
That small piece of herself that ached to see him like this, and it brings her forward.
“You have never been a waste of my time,” she tells him with a perplexed frown, trying to remember if ever there had been a time that she grew so bitter that she would say something like that to him. It didn’t sound like her, and she decides that perhaps he is confused by fever and pain. “Let me heal you,” she says imploringly, though she does not dare to take another step forward. She simply watches him from where she stands, her worry illuminated by the glow of her halo, her eyes tracing a path over the strange wound and biting back the urge to ask again what had caused it.
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —
@[Ashhal]