In Harper their grief was shared, though the passing of seasons had offered some scarring of the wound. It was not yet old pain, but it was no longer quite so fresh. So raw. Hadama exhaled slowly and took a few steps towards the pew a few paces away from Maea. He lowered himself down onto its warm, hard bench and let his hands rest on his knees, fingertips pressing small indents into the leather of his trousers where the fabric pulled taut over the joints.
"It is not," he confirmed, voice lower than usual with the weight of it. He lapsed back into silence, their mourning filling the obsidian cathedral with quiet echoes of Harper's loss. But his was not the only death that had weighed heavily on certain hearts. Maea's passing - however brief - had also taken its toll. All the moreso because of the disappearance that had followed, lending credence to the rumors that she had truly died this time. He made no move to push the pale Ancient but when she spoke again he turned to watch her weary face, taking in her words without a change in his stoic expression.
He made no denial of her claims, no attempt at assurance or comfort that she was wrong in her beliefs. He absorbed her apology in the way the ocean absorbed light, letting it fall into hidden depths, swallowed down without protest.
But neither was their acceptance.
He tilted his head a fraction to the side as he considered her, emerald eyes implacable in the light of her sparks. "Did you think," he began, each word chosen with deliberate care, his tone controlled and neutral, "that your disappearance would not hurt anyone?"
"It is not," he confirmed, voice lower than usual with the weight of it. He lapsed back into silence, their mourning filling the obsidian cathedral with quiet echoes of Harper's loss. But his was not the only death that had weighed heavily on certain hearts. Maea's passing - however brief - had also taken its toll. All the moreso because of the disappearance that had followed, lending credence to the rumors that she had truly died this time. He made no move to push the pale Ancient but when she spoke again he turned to watch her weary face, taking in her words without a change in his stoic expression.
He made no denial of her claims, no attempt at assurance or comfort that she was wrong in her beliefs. He absorbed her apology in the way the ocean absorbed light, letting it fall into hidden depths, swallowed down without protest.
But neither was their acceptance.
He tilted his head a fraction to the side as he considered her, emerald eyes implacable in the light of her sparks. "Did you think," he began, each word chosen with deliberate care, his tone controlled and neutral, "that your disappearance would not hurt anyone?"
