Thalassa
Thal gives a slow nod of understanding, slightly distracted by Asta's words and what they mean. She's never noticed any inclinations caused by her lava wyrm shift, except perhaps the general Ancient traits of liking to bathe in flames and characteristic mischief; and when her lyvern shift appeared, it just seemed to embody everything she's always been, fierce and unable to be held down. But it makes her wonder what this new shift means and what it might entail for her - or worse: what it says about her.
The blue of her gaze drifts towards the fire, drawn by the warmth and the lull of inanimate flickering. It quiets her thoughts, rocking them into silence and pushing them just beneath the swell of exhaustion. She's aware of the damning thoughts floating under the surface, where she'll be forced to face them in the light of the morning; but her eyelids grow heavy, weighted by the draining of all her stores, feeling like everything has been emptied and the dregs scraped dry, everything too raw for her to handle right now. Each blink grows longer, her breathing slowing as she's finally wrestled down by the neglect and ignoring of her basic needs - not a peaceful calm, but something drained and inevitable like gravity seizing a bird that's flown too long, threatening to pull them crashing to the ground.
She fights it, dreading whatever dreams may come when her guard lowers, and knowing that Asta wouldn't be there when she woke again to the aching hollowness. Thal squeezes her eyes closed, a pang of hatred tightening her hold on the glass and the pendant - hatred for herself and how she's ended up in this situation. Her jaw clenches as her subconscious looks for reasoning through the fog, unable to grasp anything in her tired state, but convinced that it must be her.
The blue of her gaze drifts towards the fire, drawn by the warmth and the lull of inanimate flickering. It quiets her thoughts, rocking them into silence and pushing them just beneath the swell of exhaustion. She's aware of the damning thoughts floating under the surface, where she'll be forced to face them in the light of the morning; but her eyelids grow heavy, weighted by the draining of all her stores, feeling like everything has been emptied and the dregs scraped dry, everything too raw for her to handle right now. Each blink grows longer, her breathing slowing as she's finally wrestled down by the neglect and ignoring of her basic needs - not a peaceful calm, but something drained and inevitable like gravity seizing a bird that's flown too long, threatening to pull them crashing to the ground.
She fights it, dreading whatever dreams may come when her guard lowers, and knowing that Asta wouldn't be there when she woke again to the aching hollowness. Thal squeezes her eyes closed, a pang of hatred tightening her hold on the glass and the pendant - hatred for herself and how she's ended up in this situation. Her jaw clenches as her subconscious looks for reasoning through the fog, unable to grasp anything in her tired state, but convinced that it must be her.
Walk with me to the end
Stare with me into the abyss
Stare with me into the abyss
