The Hollowed Grounds was its own world of ghosts, and while he hadn’t meant to subject her to the sinister processes all over again, when discussing Maea, it seemed an inevitable slot to wind up where they’d all started. So he grew quiet, listening as tea was strained, eyes flickering back and forth to watch the reactions, to hear the reflections. He had no argument for it; the sacrifices would’ve been empty and just that – leaving the regions wide open for takeover. “I mentioned it would have made our situations much worse – if every leader was to be eradicated at that particular meeting.” But that hadn’t seemed to matter either; making her sound even more erratic and idiotic.
Performative morals weren’t a foreign figment – but he’d seen it firsthand before. Even more so now with Maea and her antics and displays, only to turn tail when the opportunity was immediately presented to her. The options on death amidst all the distinction gave him pause. He hadn’t chosen a way to meet his demise either, but hadn’t let it color his actions the way the Ancient’s seemed to grant her every vivid hue for every vivid moment. “An act? To seem important? To have control?” He mused in return, a shrug of his shoulder bending through the tightening of his frame. The other note made him hang his head, eyes going towards the darkened oak of their table, of the way the words had shifted sentiments and platitudes and surroundings. Not what he’d intended, but the question still lingered. “Will you bother with seeing her again?” As a friend? As an enemy? As anything in between – or taking the alternative of completely ignoring the woman again?
But then they seem to both be struggling to find purchase after the whirlwind, and he took the spoon waving towards his face; striving to place his own grin back on. Because he didn’t want her to lose those she’d tried to gain – but gods, after such performances…his nose wrinkled, taking the silver piece and beginning to concoct his own thoughts on blends for Kiada. “Sure. Show me what to do?”
Performative morals weren’t a foreign figment – but he’d seen it firsthand before. Even more so now with Maea and her antics and displays, only to turn tail when the opportunity was immediately presented to her. The options on death amidst all the distinction gave him pause. He hadn’t chosen a way to meet his demise either, but hadn’t let it color his actions the way the Ancient’s seemed to grant her every vivid hue for every vivid moment. “An act? To seem important? To have control?” He mused in return, a shrug of his shoulder bending through the tightening of his frame. The other note made him hang his head, eyes going towards the darkened oak of their table, of the way the words had shifted sentiments and platitudes and surroundings. Not what he’d intended, but the question still lingered. “Will you bother with seeing her again?” As a friend? As an enemy? As anything in between – or taking the alternative of completely ignoring the woman again?
But then they seem to both be struggling to find purchase after the whirlwind, and he took the spoon waving towards his face; striving to place his own grin back on. Because he didn’t want her to lose those she’d tried to gain – but gods, after such performances…his nose wrinkled, taking the silver piece and beginning to concoct his own thoughts on blends for Kiada. “Sure. Show me what to do?”
deimos
Never let them drain the river of your soul
