Lena
// what is to give light must endure burning //
Would he have said anything he was thinking, Lena would have plenty of words to assuage the self-inflicted torment. She understood survival; from the depths of those who hadn’t, to those mended, tucked away, and permitted to heal under their own fruition and timeline. Fear wasn’t a darkness – there were plenty of things to be afraid of, especially in Caido, where every day something might be swarming and looming from the region that was once their own shelter. It was how they managed it. What they decided to do. How they overcame.
And he’d done just that – though by means she’d never heard of.
She tucked her fingers away, tightly held against her palms, realizing she might have been simply enhancing the pain. Feathers capable of reviving, of bringing someone back from Mort’s Realm…and she tucked that information away for another day, nodding her head and striving to comprehend anything beyond the here and now. Another few stifled and stilted breaths came through, vague notions of inquiries spiraling against her mind, never to be said aloud. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered instead, uncertain of how else to express her regret for his experience, for the horrific images likely painted through his mind, for something he’d always carry with him. Her eyes went downcast, to the couch cushions, to the floor, hiding the emotional landscape behind her eyes as they threatened to unleash one more burden of salt and sorrow. He didn’t need that either.
The Caretaker listened as best she could to the notions of a Pyrrhic victory – to poor Sohalia, likely wounded and grieving so many chances and opportunities, always yearning to be mighty and strong and wanting to take back her stolen crown, to Alys and her lost companion, to –
She sucked in a breath, funneled it down into her lungs and willed her hands to stop shaking. “Okay. But you’re alive and - ,” that matters she said to herself, stumbling through the semblances and synapses, one by one. “I – what do we do now?”
And he’d done just that – though by means she’d never heard of.
She tucked her fingers away, tightly held against her palms, realizing she might have been simply enhancing the pain. Feathers capable of reviving, of bringing someone back from Mort’s Realm…and she tucked that information away for another day, nodding her head and striving to comprehend anything beyond the here and now. Another few stifled and stilted breaths came through, vague notions of inquiries spiraling against her mind, never to be said aloud. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered instead, uncertain of how else to express her regret for his experience, for the horrific images likely painted through his mind, for something he’d always carry with him. Her eyes went downcast, to the couch cushions, to the floor, hiding the emotional landscape behind her eyes as they threatened to unleash one more burden of salt and sorrow. He didn’t need that either.
The Caretaker listened as best she could to the notions of a Pyrrhic victory – to poor Sohalia, likely wounded and grieving so many chances and opportunities, always yearning to be mighty and strong and wanting to take back her stolen crown, to Alys and her lost companion, to –
She sucked in a breath, funneled it down into her lungs and willed her hands to stop shaking. “Okay. But you’re alive and - ,” that matters she said to herself, stumbling through the semblances and synapses, one by one. “I – what do we do now?”
