Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away
A glimmer of light flitted into view. Its delicate wings consisted of minute sparks of fire, glistening like gemstones, like sunlight, like smoldering embers in a campfire. Holding out a hand, Maea let it settle on a finger and watched how it cast a rim light of crimson over the skin, as if she too was about to start burning.
"I would probably be more inclined to listen to their side if they didn't start with so much threat or blame," she murmured, acknowledging her own lack of patience during the volatile discussions - plain arguments, really - she'd had before this point. Thumping her head lightly against the wall, listening and testing her own mental workings the way one might prod a tender bruise, what she found wasn't as jubilant and satisfactory as she had hoped.
"It makes me feel lonely," Maea sighed, closing her eyes. Cupping the butterfly in both hands, the warmth made her realize how cold her hands were. Too tense, unable to breathe properly - the upset was a physical thing at this point. "Like I have to choose between being me and being around someone I actually started to like. Danta, he - he pulled me out of stone, and gave me something to do, and agency to act... I thought it would be fine to actually let my guard down around him. But the moment I do..." When her voice began to waver, the pale ancient broke off and looked away. Off into the dark, where the bloody waterfall whispered and sighed. She wasn't going to cry. Refused to hurt herself on the Maverick; or so she told herself, even as pain kept flaring inside.
"I would probably be more inclined to listen to their side if they didn't start with so much threat or blame," she murmured, acknowledging her own lack of patience during the volatile discussions - plain arguments, really - she'd had before this point. Thumping her head lightly against the wall, listening and testing her own mental workings the way one might prod a tender bruise, what she found wasn't as jubilant and satisfactory as she had hoped.
"It makes me feel lonely," Maea sighed, closing her eyes. Cupping the butterfly in both hands, the warmth made her realize how cold her hands were. Too tense, unable to breathe properly - the upset was a physical thing at this point. "Like I have to choose between being me and being around someone I actually started to like. Danta, he - he pulled me out of stone, and gave me something to do, and agency to act... I thought it would be fine to actually let my guard down around him. But the moment I do..." When her voice began to waver, the pale ancient broke off and looked away. Off into the dark, where the bloody waterfall whispered and sighed. She wasn't going to cry. Refused to hurt herself on the Maverick; or so she told herself, even as pain kept flaring inside.
