Oh, how I've tried to get you out of my head
And I lie broken in words I said
And I lie broken in words I said
Liam worked and listened, allowing Maea the space and time to tell her story at her own pace. He had to admit that it was... a lot. He knew a little about the Ancients' bloodlust from his time spent with Maea, but he'd never considered that their dietary choices, as Maea called it, might vary from Ancient to Ancient. In a strange, twisted way, he supposed it made sense - he had his own preferences of food, and so, too, must an Ancient in the depths of their bloodlust. It was distasteful to think about - perhaps one of the first things that truly seemed to bother him of what Maea had shared - and he glanced at her with a creased brow more than once as she continued her story.
In the end, it sounded to Liam like Maea was between a rock and a hard place. She was faced with a choice that he wouldn't wish upon anyone: to honor her morals and lose her friends (and, indeed, her entire race) or lose her morals and fit in. He knew what he would choose - or, at least, what he thought that he would choose - in her place, but this wasn't his story, and it wasn't really his place to make that kind of decision for her.
When she'd finished, Liam stopped swinging the pickaxe, leaning it against the wall and stretching his arms above his head, working out the kinks in his neck from the physical labor. Then he bent to begin picking up the pieces of ore that had broken free. "I don't think you're insane," he said. "I think you're a good person in a really, really hard situation." His bag grew heavier as he tucked iron into it, but he paused to look up and meet Maea's eyes, his gaze intense. "And I think you miss them because you care more than anyone I've ever known - about everything and everyone." She seemed to care so deeply that it hurt, but Liam kept that thought to himself. "It's natural to want to fit in, Maea. That doesn't make you crazy. It makes you human."
In the end, it sounded to Liam like Maea was between a rock and a hard place. She was faced with a choice that he wouldn't wish upon anyone: to honor her morals and lose her friends (and, indeed, her entire race) or lose her morals and fit in. He knew what he would choose - or, at least, what he thought that he would choose - in her place, but this wasn't his story, and it wasn't really his place to make that kind of decision for her.
When she'd finished, Liam stopped swinging the pickaxe, leaning it against the wall and stretching his arms above his head, working out the kinks in his neck from the physical labor. Then he bent to begin picking up the pieces of ore that had broken free. "I don't think you're insane," he said. "I think you're a good person in a really, really hard situation." His bag grew heavier as he tucked iron into it, but he paused to look up and meet Maea's eyes, his gaze intense. "And I think you miss them because you care more than anyone I've ever known - about everything and everyone." She seemed to care so deeply that it hurt, but Liam kept that thought to himself. "It's natural to want to fit in, Maea. That doesn't make you crazy. It makes you human."
Never thought I'd walk on this street again
Standing where it all began
Standing where it all began
Liam
