Perhaps it is always to be like this, he thinks.
Perhaps he is always to find himself trapped within the gale winds that find his heart; perhaps he is always to create these storms that later suffocate him. He knows that he is the harbinger of all of the destruction in his life and yet he finds it is so much easier to blame others. It is so much easier to blame Castile for not just giving him access to the healers when he needed it. Blame Kensa for playing these games with his head. Blame Brinly for triggering such a reaction in him and pushing him over the edge.
Always someone else’s fault and never his own.
But staring at her, the tears wet on her delicate cheeks and the plea just resting on the edge of her tongue, he is so acutely aware of his own downfall and the part that he has played in this, that he can’t look away. He can see the way that she looks at him and he knows that it is his own fault. He can see the way that she must feel, and he knows that there’s no one to blame here except for himself and what he has done.
He would curse if he could say anything at all.
Instead, he feels all the words stop up his throat and all of the apologies that he somehow can’t form rest there acutely on his face. “What do you want from me, Kensa?” he finally manages, his voice torn on the edges and raw. “I don’t know what you want me to do.” He only knows all of the different ways that he could fail her; all of the different ways that he has messed everything up and they have barely met.
Give him an inch of rope, he would surely hang them both.
Couldn’t she see that?
BRIGADE
when I was a man I thought it ended when I knew love's perfect ache
but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake
@[Kensa]