[private] I just wanted to be found, ashhal

[Casimira]

CASIMIRA

dragon-shifting daughter of ashhal and ryatah

She isn’t sure what she had expected when she lashes out at him (or at least, her somewhat mild version of lashing out), but his reaction is not it.

She had assumed he would retaliate, shut her out, or leave—or all of the above. She had not expected him to admit that he had cared for her mother in any capacity. She had not expected him to own the fact that he had played a role in why they didn’t work. Ryatah had never implied such a thing, but Casimira had always assumed that their relationship had been more one-sided; that her mother, as she was so prone to doing, was clinging to the smallest thread of affection as if she might manifest it into something greater by refusing to let go.

Casimira had been living in Nerine when Noel was born. She remembers following the sound of rock being disintegrated, and coming across her mother and a still stumbling newborn in tow. She remembers the look that reflected in her mother’s eyes—a pain that overshadowed what should have been the joy of a new daughter being born, and the way she had given a nearly imperceptible shake of her head that told her to not ask, though later she had learned of what had transpired during the birth.

This, in her mind, had further proven what she had always thought; that Ryatah cared for Ashhal more than he cared for her.

To hear something that disputed this fact clouded her mind with confusion, and there is a glimmer of regret in her eyes for having brought the subject up at all.

But her last confession evokes a reaction out of him that chases thoughts of her mother from her mind, and her own muscles grow taut in response as she inwardly steels herself against what she thinks he might say. “I don’t know,” she says plainly, because it was too difficult to say why she had not told him immediately. Her fears are twisted and tangled, but all of them are knotted around the same thing—that he is going to reject her. “You didn’t seem pleased that I was Ryatah’s daughter to begin with,” she points out, referring to his initial reaction to the mere sight of her face.

There is a heavy pause, and she tries not to sink beneath the weight of it. “I’m queen of Tephra,” she tells him, but this is not a brag, or even said with any kind of pride. It’s a simple statement, and she continues by saying, “I won’t take up anymore of your time today, but that is where you can find me.” She doesn’t expect him to seek her out; she doesn’t expect to ever see him again at all, and this is something she has already accepted. And though she should turn to go before she has to watch him leave, she remains where she stands, eyes locked steadily on his face.

@Ashhal

[Ashhal]

I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

He still doesn’t know why she had ever cared at all. There is nothing redeeming about him, nothing inside him to love. And yet Ryatah had tried anyway. That is what had always made the least sense to him, why he had resisted any kind of return feeling until it was far too late. Because he had known even then he could never hold it. There had never been enough inside him to hold someone as infinitely full of caring as she had been.

He had been stupid to imagine even for the barest moment in time that he could.

If he were a better man, he would at least explain to this mare (his daughter, no matter how loath he is to admit it) why he had never claimed any of his children. But it is that very fact - the one that he is not a better man - that keeps him from doing it. They had always deserved better than him as a sire, but he could never give it to them. Better that they know from the very start never to count on him. Better that they know from birth he can never be what they need, nevermind what they want.

Ashhal isn’t sure why she tells him she is a queen. He could almost be proud, if he were better. He had never expected anything sprung from his loins to amount to much. Not when they had his blood in their veins to drag them down. But whatever surprise or pride he might have felt is swiftly snuffed out by decades of jaded denial.

“Am I supposed to give you a fucking congratulations?” he bites out, eyes darkening. He stares at her, but he doesn’t retreat. He has spent so long rejecting all ties, driving away anyone that might threaten the blackened truth of him, that it has become too easy to fall back on. He would rather be a heartless coward than a broken shell of a man. Her invitation surprised him, but the temptation to accept surprises him even more. But after he forces his next words from his mouth on a sneer, he has little doubt she would regret it. “If you want to see me after today, you’re as much a masochist as you goddamned mother.”

@Casimira