Anju
Don't come over, don't get too close to me
And dear god don't be too good to me
Her hands do not cling or clench as he backs away, no matter how dearly she wants to. Run, she wants to tell him, and as if he knows what lingers behind her painfully clenching teeth he gives her the opening to say it. And dear god don't be too good to me
"You find a different part to play in the story," she murmurs, voice heavy with grief instead of gravitas and command. Her hands are empty, calloused, useless against her thighs. "History is yours to make, Koa. I - I can't tell you what to do, I -" am already speaking treason, they're always listening, they'll use you against me - "In the eyes of the Dragoons you're a traitor." Her eyes are dark in the firelight, the faint lick of red bringing out the bloody undertones in her irises, fixed on Koa.
"But history is written by the survivors. Codes can be rewritten." If the old one is crushed, if his avenging crusade succeeds and he is heralded a hero for having earned their scorn only to free them from the chains around their wrists. It's a cruel weight to place on his shoulders; Anju prays - more fervently than she ever has - that someone else will play the hero, and that Koa will someday return home without ever having been risked. That Anju will still be there to receive him, with an empty throne and as much freedom as that can grant her. It's the only happy ending she can foresee for the two of them. "I can't know what you plan to do. You know I can't." One hand rises as if to touch him only to falter and fall. "Just...survive." He is free now - willingly or not - from the code that sits heavy around her neck. She only prays he'll use that freedom to ensure his own survival, because her own fate is far bleaker.
I'm not proud of it, please
But I want it to sting
But I want it to sting
