02-02-2020, 10:46 PM
Handsome, Brunhilde thinks, staring hard at the moody face of Brigade. Longing sits in her chest, not aching like longing should be, but cold and lonely. She wonders what it would feel like to let Brigade in, to offer him the redeeming kindness she used to offer up slightly more freely. That mean streak in her (though can it be called a mean streak anymore?) twists her kind words into underhanded insults, and perhaps she doesn’t want to be so cruel. Perhaps Brun simply cannot help herself when she has the opportunity to project her misery upon others.
And, perhaps, she is so very tired of being alone simply for cruelty that does not come naturally to her.
Hildy shrugs then replies, near rueful smile on her face. “What ever do you mean, Brigade? I’m the most welcoming woman I know.” It feels good, to tease him in a way that is not exactly mean. What she wants to say is I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for making it worse (because she can’t help but blame herself for what most likely is not her fault), but her last sliver of pride keeps her biting her tongue. Instead, she offers what might suffice, “Maybe next time I run into you, you can say that more genuinely.” A peace offering, maybe. Brun hesitantly waves her white flag while simultaneously wanting to stain it with the crimson of her own blood. She thinks Brigade deserves to spill it, the only man she has lashed out enough to deserve to hurt her.
Hildy casts glowing gemstone eyes up to the skies, picking out her favorite stars and wondering if one day her magic will allow her to become one. The stardust and butterflies that follow her certainly make her look like a heavenly creature; and suddenly a violent need to behave like an angel overcomes her, spilling recklessly from her mouth.
“He hurts me and that’s why I want to hurt you. They always hurt me. I’m sorry.” Even my father, she thinks bitterly, stung by his disappearance and eventual distance.
Then Brun sits in stunned silence, offering a surprised gaze to Brigade.
And, perhaps, she is so very tired of being alone simply for cruelty that does not come naturally to her.
Hildy shrugs then replies, near rueful smile on her face. “What ever do you mean, Brigade? I’m the most welcoming woman I know.” It feels good, to tease him in a way that is not exactly mean. What she wants to say is I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for making it worse (because she can’t help but blame herself for what most likely is not her fault), but her last sliver of pride keeps her biting her tongue. Instead, she offers what might suffice, “Maybe next time I run into you, you can say that more genuinely.” A peace offering, maybe. Brun hesitantly waves her white flag while simultaneously wanting to stain it with the crimson of her own blood. She thinks Brigade deserves to spill it, the only man she has lashed out enough to deserve to hurt her.
Hildy casts glowing gemstone eyes up to the skies, picking out her favorite stars and wondering if one day her magic will allow her to become one. The stardust and butterflies that follow her certainly make her look like a heavenly creature; and suddenly a violent need to behave like an angel overcomes her, spilling recklessly from her mouth.
“He hurts me and that’s why I want to hurt you. They always hurt me. I’m sorry.” Even my father, she thinks bitterly, stung by his disappearance and eventual distance.
Then Brun sits in stunned silence, offering a surprised gaze to Brigade.
@[brigade]
