we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight She wouldn’t lie to him; this, he knows. So his cerulean eyes explore the deep brown of hers, despite the fact that her gaze lingers elsewhere. There is a shuddering sigh that expels from the darkness of her mouth and though he had prepared himself, he had hoped it wouldn’t come. His brows come together with concern, stretching his neck forward to perhaps press the softness of his mouth against her cheek, but refrains. Her admission is not unwarranted (reasonable, understandable), but he cannot help the guilt that trickles into his stomach, souring there until he has to look away from her, and into the stars above. But now, even the stars hold no solace for him like they used to. The Overseer is holding his breath, clenched between his teeth and sitting there feebly, unable to do or say anything to solve any of this. It pained him, to know how truly lonely she feels on the volcanic peninsula, despite the Tephra’s thriving growth. She has turned to face him now, but his gaze has found the horizon, staring expressionlessly into the hard line between sky and sea. For a long time he is silent, listening to her as she quietly expels everything from her mind - there is no accusation, not malice on her voice, but Warrick can feel his heart flinching at each word that falls into the humid air, the force of his clenched jaw increasing steadily as he hears what he has long since thought about, but now is faced with the actual truth of it all. “You deserve all that you dream of,” he murmurs to her steadily, though his voice lacks the normal gusto that accompanies his normal talk of hopes and dreams. There is a pause, hesitant and stuck in his throat, before finally: “I wish there was a way to give it to you.” I am sorry that it is me who cannot give it to you. He knows it should be him. He had given her a daughter, and though dutiful and loving father he is, he does not play the part of adoring lover - he cannot, for his heart belongs beneath the volcano with his seer, with Tangerine. If his heart could belong to more than one perhaps it could be possible, but even then, he does not think Wound would share her love with another - just as Warrick cannot. He still cannot look at her (or refuses to), and the deep ocean blue of his eyes still look out towards the sea, his mind and heart as tumultuous as the moon-lit waves. warrick |
credit to vel of adoxography.
@[wound]