03-20-2022, 04:39 PM
Ryatah
WHEN I WAS SHIPWRECKED I THOUGHT OF YOU
IN THE CRACKS OF LIGHT I DREAMED OF YOU
He mentions the south, and it takes her a moment to follow what he is saying through the fog that still lingers in her mind. She had not been here when the oceans rose to swallow the southern lands, and though she had heard whispers of it later, it had taken her some time to grasp what was being said. For so long after her return much of her reality still felt altered, as if she was constantly walking in a world tilted askew. The things that they said (something about Carnage and the mountain, an earthquake and flooding, and a kingdom under the sea) had not made sense at the time. Some of the pieces fit—Carnage causing mayhem on the mountain and dragging others into it—but the south disappearing and another kingdom being discovered was more difficult for her still-addled mind to follow.
So she ignored it all, as she often did, locking herself away in Hyaline where she could pretend things were normal.
Where black voids did not exist and the ocean stopped at the shoreline, and the mountains themselves kept her demons at bay.
But, once again falling victim to her own self-centeredness, she had forgotten that the flooding would mean the residents of those lands were now displaced. She feels a twinge for having not realized this until she picks up on the quiet melancholy in his voice when he speaks of it, and wonders how it had never occurred to her before (she knows how, of course—because the story always began in such a way that it was framed as being Carnage's fault, and so she simply stopped listening, banished it all from her mind). “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, an empty apology since she knows words have never managed to reverse the things that are wrong.
He asks her of someone named Liesma, and when the name does not spark anything from her memory, she shakes her head. “I’m not sure,” she tells him with a little bit of regret that tinges her voice. Her bloodline has spread like a tangle of weeds, and even if she is at the root of them all, she has long since lost track of where they have spread. She wonders if this is to be considered another failure to add to the never-ending tally—that she cannot claim to know everyone that shares her blood. “It’s possible. I’ve had a lot of children over the years, and have not even met all of my grandchildren,” she answers him honestly, though the kind smile on her face transforms into one of remorse, as if she has personally let him down by not knowing.
His sorrow still radiates from him, and while she does not often use her empathy to twist others emotions she cannot keep herself from sending a wave of reassurance towards him. She does not attempt to morph his pain into anything else; she only offers the hope that it will eventually pass, as pain often does. “Which part of the south were you from?” she inquires softly, giving him the opportunity to either further speak of the things that are weighing him down, or to shut her out and change the subject.
So she ignored it all, as she often did, locking herself away in Hyaline where she could pretend things were normal.
Where black voids did not exist and the ocean stopped at the shoreline, and the mountains themselves kept her demons at bay.
But, once again falling victim to her own self-centeredness, she had forgotten that the flooding would mean the residents of those lands were now displaced. She feels a twinge for having not realized this until she picks up on the quiet melancholy in his voice when he speaks of it, and wonders how it had never occurred to her before (she knows how, of course—because the story always began in such a way that it was framed as being Carnage's fault, and so she simply stopped listening, banished it all from her mind). “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, an empty apology since she knows words have never managed to reverse the things that are wrong.
He asks her of someone named Liesma, and when the name does not spark anything from her memory, she shakes her head. “I’m not sure,” she tells him with a little bit of regret that tinges her voice. Her bloodline has spread like a tangle of weeds, and even if she is at the root of them all, she has long since lost track of where they have spread. She wonders if this is to be considered another failure to add to the never-ending tally—that she cannot claim to know everyone that shares her blood. “It’s possible. I’ve had a lot of children over the years, and have not even met all of my grandchildren,” she answers him honestly, though the kind smile on her face transforms into one of remorse, as if she has personally let him down by not knowing.
His sorrow still radiates from him, and while she does not often use her empathy to twist others emotions she cannot keep herself from sending a wave of reassurance towards him. She does not attempt to morph his pain into anything else; she only offers the hope that it will eventually pass, as pain often does. “Which part of the south were you from?” she inquires softly, giving him the opportunity to either further speak of the things that are weighing him down, or to shut her out and change the subject.
AND IT WAS REAL ENOUGH TO GET ME THROUGH —
BUT I SWEAR YOU WERE THERE
@Fyr