01-02-2026, 07:20 PM
bael
Something about her is strange.
Needy, he thinks, in a way that is unusual.
Bael is not a thing that others are meant to need anything from. Least of all validation. Her existence means precious little to him, if only because all existence to him seems trivial. Dark things do not much care for life or the rarified beauty of it all. He cannot make her meaningful.
He is young still, Bael, but he is not a fool. It feels like pandering, how mystified she seems by his power. There are things far more powerful than he, he knows that. He blinks at her, his brow hardening as he tilts his head in question. Yes, she is a strange thing indeed, he decides. Especially when she goes and apologizes for a thing she can’t control, like she’s not just after validation but reassurance, too. It seems an automatic thing, the apology. And he’s not a thing that puts all that much stock in talk, he finds that most words are meaningless, but it feels unnecessary.
“Okay,” he says. Okay, she’s done it. Okay, she’s sorry for it. It had not been an accusation, so much as it had been his way of pointing out that the answer to her question was almost painfully obvious. Yes, he had been so obviously responsible for the ruin left in his way, same as she had been so obviously responsible for the stardust that collected in soft mounds that seemed to dissolve slowly, the longer they stood there.
He’s ready to turn from her, to refocus his attention on the surface of the water. But she’s moving a little closer, telling her his name though he has not asked for it or, as far as he can tell, given her any indication that he’s interested in knowing it. He studies her a long, hard moment. What a remarkably soft thing she is, he thinks.
“There’s something a bit off about you, isn’t there?” he asks. It’s not meant to be rude, it is simply not in his nature to be tactful.
Needy, he thinks, in a way that is unusual.
Bael is not a thing that others are meant to need anything from. Least of all validation. Her existence means precious little to him, if only because all existence to him seems trivial. Dark things do not much care for life or the rarified beauty of it all. He cannot make her meaningful.
He is young still, Bael, but he is not a fool. It feels like pandering, how mystified she seems by his power. There are things far more powerful than he, he knows that. He blinks at her, his brow hardening as he tilts his head in question. Yes, she is a strange thing indeed, he decides. Especially when she goes and apologizes for a thing she can’t control, like she’s not just after validation but reassurance, too. It seems an automatic thing, the apology. And he’s not a thing that puts all that much stock in talk, he finds that most words are meaningless, but it feels unnecessary.
“Okay,” he says. Okay, she’s done it. Okay, she’s sorry for it. It had not been an accusation, so much as it had been his way of pointing out that the answer to her question was almost painfully obvious. Yes, he had been so obviously responsible for the ruin left in his way, same as she had been so obviously responsible for the stardust that collected in soft mounds that seemed to dissolve slowly, the longer they stood there.
He’s ready to turn from her, to refocus his attention on the surface of the water. But she’s moving a little closer, telling her his name though he has not asked for it or, as far as he can tell, given her any indication that he’s interested in knowing it. He studies her a long, hard moment. What a remarkably soft thing she is, he thinks.
“There’s something a bit off about you, isn’t there?” he asks. It’s not meant to be rude, it is simply not in his nature to be tactful.
( they won’t muzzle the mouth that just bit ya )