ISLA
With skin made tan and golden from seasons in Torchline, these days Isla is able to properly grow pale at the reminder of the Voice and how it had felt to feel herself properly invaded by the goddess, and any objections she wants to make die on her tongue. She does remember - and although back then it had been her choice, a choice she'd made without hesitation, it had nonetheless been the springboard to all that had happened to break their friendship.
"Remi," she whispers, the tone a mix of pleading and scolding. He wouldn't, she wants to say, but do any of them know that's true? It isn't like that, but can she say it for certain?
The Bastion might have predicted correctly before, when he'd considered that there would be tears, but Isla is still determinedly blinking them back for now. "I'm not doing that to him," she tells him eventually. "I can't, Remi. I love him." However unfair it might be for Remi to hear it. "If he goes, it needs to be his choice. I can... I can talk to him, but I'm not making him do anything he doesn't want to do."
"Remi," she whispers, the tone a mix of pleading and scolding. He wouldn't, she wants to say, but do any of them know that's true? It isn't like that, but can she say it for certain?
The Bastion might have predicted correctly before, when he'd considered that there would be tears, but Isla is still determinedly blinking them back for now. "I'm not doing that to him," she tells him eventually. "I can't, Remi. I love him." However unfair it might be for Remi to hear it. "If he goes, it needs to be his choice. I can... I can talk to him, but I'm not making him do anything he doesn't want to do."
apres moi le deluge
after me comes the flood
after me comes the flood
