Thalassa
Hands getting cold
His soft rumbled words and easy presence pull at the already weakened walls of her heart, and Thal lets the smiles fall away. It doesn't feel like she needs to pretend to be unbothered. He sees it all anyways and doesn't mock her for it, doesn't judge her or ask questions of why. Instead, he offers an arm that wraps around her like a warm blanket of reassurance.
Thal might have otherwise tensed at the contact, her body going rigid at the idea of needing comfort from anyone, but the truth is that she does want comfort. She wants someone to share her misery with, someone to agree with the painful truth, someone to tell her that Maea's wrong about her. Because for all the sharpness and rough edges of her personality, she doesn't want to be a bad friend, and the way she'd been so easily discarded makes her feel very much like she'd failed.
So, as Asta's arm settles over her shoulders, Thal doesn't stop the urge to lean into him, to rest her head closer to his chest to listen to his words. Her head nods carefully in agreement with every statement. She doesn't say it aloud, but the truth of the matter had been a choice that she hadn't wanted to make: between Maea and Asta. As much as she'd wanted to believe that her relationship with the woman meant something, they'd had too many fights and disagreements where neither felt heard, and that's what ultimately drove them apart, even if the nail in the coffin was Thal's new bond with the Butcher and Maea's willingness to swing the hammer.
There's no fire in her as she mulls over the exhausting mental gymnastics of the pale Ancient. It's such a sad point of view, and Thal hums to confirm Asta's own suspicions. "She thinks the world is going to turn on us..." 'Us' being the whole Ancient race, simply because they don't publicly ostracize one man and his preferences. It makes Thal pity her for having such a dark, scared view of everyone; to think they might be so quick to judge as she is.
His apology is met with a shake of her head, her hair shifting limply around her face. "That's just it, I don't know if it ever was." A 'friendship,' that is. After a moment of silence, she finally says the part that hurts the most, the part that she'd have hoped she always made abundantly clear in her words and actions. Her voice nearly cracks around the admission, pulled tight by pain. "Asta, she thought I would hurt her. What kind of friend is that?" As if lamenting in her suffering, a roar sounds in the distance, and Thal pulls her legs tighter towards her, feeling those same insecurities rear their heads. Because as angry as she's been, she's never wanted to actually hurt someone she cares about.
Thal might have otherwise tensed at the contact, her body going rigid at the idea of needing comfort from anyone, but the truth is that she does want comfort. She wants someone to share her misery with, someone to agree with the painful truth, someone to tell her that Maea's wrong about her. Because for all the sharpness and rough edges of her personality, she doesn't want to be a bad friend, and the way she'd been so easily discarded makes her feel very much like she'd failed.
So, as Asta's arm settles over her shoulders, Thal doesn't stop the urge to lean into him, to rest her head closer to his chest to listen to his words. Her head nods carefully in agreement with every statement. She doesn't say it aloud, but the truth of the matter had been a choice that she hadn't wanted to make: between Maea and Asta. As much as she'd wanted to believe that her relationship with the woman meant something, they'd had too many fights and disagreements where neither felt heard, and that's what ultimately drove them apart, even if the nail in the coffin was Thal's new bond with the Butcher and Maea's willingness to swing the hammer.
There's no fire in her as she mulls over the exhausting mental gymnastics of the pale Ancient. It's such a sad point of view, and Thal hums to confirm Asta's own suspicions. "She thinks the world is going to turn on us..." 'Us' being the whole Ancient race, simply because they don't publicly ostracize one man and his preferences. It makes Thal pity her for having such a dark, scared view of everyone; to think they might be so quick to judge as she is.
His apology is met with a shake of her head, her hair shifting limply around her face. "That's just it, I don't know if it ever was." A 'friendship,' that is. After a moment of silence, she finally says the part that hurts the most, the part that she'd have hoped she always made abundantly clear in her words and actions. Her voice nearly cracks around the admission, pulled tight by pain. "Asta, she thought I would hurt her. What kind of friend is that?" As if lamenting in her suffering, a roar sounds in the distance, and Thal pulls her legs tighter towards her, feeling those same insecurities rear their heads. Because as angry as she's been, she's never wanted to actually hurt someone she cares about.
Losing feeling is getting old
Was I made from a broken mold?
Was I made from a broken mold?
