09-27-2026, 05:04 PM
starboard
make it pretty, but train it to kill
He sounds so lost, the soggy boy with his milky eyes and bloated skin. As if the fundamental parts of him had been taken during his time beneath the water too, like sins washed away during a Baptism. She feels a pang in her stomach as he speaks, a tugging at her heart. It takes her too long to realize what she feels is sympathy.
She cannot relate to his troubles, but she can and does feel sorry for him. It is a foreign notion to her and it doesn't come easily. His words cause her to frown though, the expression somewhat lost to the beauty of her face. "No, Son, I'm not dead." she says, unsure if that's the answer he wants or not. He seems to be searching for some comfort and while she does feel for the colt, she isn't the type to coddle. She prefers telling uncomfortable truths.
He speaks again and she turns to face him, her blue eyes meeting his cloudy ones. She doesn't shy away from those murky eyes or the sloughing skin, nor does she curl her lip at the stench of stagnation and decomposition that pours from him though it burns her senses. "I think you're right. But, you didn't stay at the bottom of whatever water you slipped beneath. That counts for something." she says, her voice firm despite the etheral quality to it. "Besides, what's dead may never die again." she adds, as if thats any comfort. Sympathy is new to her, after all.
@son