06-09-2021, 09:30 PM
Her heart is racing in her chest, thudding so loudly in her ears that she barely hears his questions, and her thoughts are skipping miles ahead with a million answers to other questions nobody has asked at all. She's lost in that whirlwind until his lips brush a kiss against her throat and everything goes quiet. Her eyes shut and instead of bones and death and horror, Beryl finds herself in Cassian's comforting lie where everything is normal, just dark. She has never been uneasy in the dark, but somehow, this blindness is different. Maybe it's the constant nagging in the back of her mind that one of her realities is a lie, and nothing in her life has prepared her to accept that the truth might be the better choice. She clings to her bitterness, it's almost as dear a friend as the snaking darkness staring back at her from every crack and crevice when she opens her eyes again. The lines of his bones make her heart twist, but she nods, a small, nearly imperceptible thing, not trusting the thickness of her tongue to shape even as simple a word as yes.
Her haunches swing away and she turns back to the pair of foals, barely seeing them through the haze of her pounding heart (and Beryl marvels at how it can be so loud, and not there at all.) They move forward to greet Cassian, bold as children often are, but if there is anything of curiosity on their faces, anything joyful or serious, she cannot see it, and there's a new sadness blooming in her heart. If she's right, they are dead, and if Cassian is, she will never see their faces, never see their smiles or frowns. Unshed tears burn in her eyes but she hides them, reaching out to rest her chin against his broad back so that he doesn't see. It's harder to hide the crack in her voice.
"You don't have to do this," it's an offering, an escape, children grow up so quickly, anyway. She's been alone since she was a yearling; since the Isle burned. How long are they really going to follow her?
"If you don't want to."
She's more than capable of keeping them safe.
Probably.
Right?
In an instant, she is searching her mind for a time when she has ever kept anyone safe. She couldn't save the Isle, she couldn't save Brennen or Nerine, she didn't even succeed in keeping herself safe, but somehow, suddenly, now, she is going to Do Better? The audacity of the thought shocks her back into reeling silence.
Her haunches swing away and she turns back to the pair of foals, barely seeing them through the haze of her pounding heart (and Beryl marvels at how it can be so loud, and not there at all.) They move forward to greet Cassian, bold as children often are, but if there is anything of curiosity on their faces, anything joyful or serious, she cannot see it, and there's a new sadness blooming in her heart. If she's right, they are dead, and if Cassian is, she will never see their faces, never see their smiles or frowns. Unshed tears burn in her eyes but she hides them, reaching out to rest her chin against his broad back so that he doesn't see. It's harder to hide the crack in her voice.
"You don't have to do this," it's an offering, an escape, children grow up so quickly, anyway. She's been alone since she was a yearling; since the Isle burned. How long are they really going to follow her?
"If you don't want to."
She's more than capable of keeping them safe.
Probably.
Right?
In an instant, she is searching her mind for a time when she has ever kept anyone safe. She couldn't save the Isle, she couldn't save Brennen or Nerine, she didn't even succeed in keeping herself safe, but somehow, suddenly, now, she is going to Do Better? The audacity of the thought shocks her back into reeling silence.
@[Cassian]