Theea
takes blood, sweat, and tears to look natural
Silence stretches until it feels brittle. I keep my back to him, catching my breath, eyes skating over the scuffs carved into the snow—every misstep mapped in ugly little crescents. The dusky blue of predawn is fading at the edges; there’s a thin seam of yellow on the horizon, and my heat is bleeding off fast. I brush snow from my sleeves, refusing to shiver.
His boots crunch behind me. I don’t turn. Then he apologizes—and it sparks a fresh, different kind of frustration, because I want to stay mad and he’s making that very hard.
I face him anyway. "I don’t care about the teasing. I was raised on it," I say, voice low, steady as I can make it. "I don’t use shields. It set me up to lose and I hate losing. I don’t—didn’t—lose." The words start tumbling and I can’t stop them. "I was better than this as a kid. I was trained by people who were trained be assassins since they were children. I took on adults and won. I was faster, stronger, steadier. And now—" I gesture at myself, frustration bleeding from me, breath smoking in the Deepfrost air. "Now I’ve got this body that went soft while I grew up. Like I lost years of training and practice I should’ve had. It betrays me at every turn. I mess up, and I smile through it like an idiot, and—" the next words scrape out before I can swallow them—"and this body is just useless, I am useless. I keep trying and I keep falling short it and I hate it. I really, really hate losing."
I snap my mouth shut, the cold stinging my eyes as I realize how much I’ve spilled. I rake a hand through my hair and half-turn away, eyes to the ground. "Sorry. Never know when to shut up and all that."
His boots crunch behind me. I don’t turn. Then he apologizes—and it sparks a fresh, different kind of frustration, because I want to stay mad and he’s making that very hard.
I face him anyway. "I don’t care about the teasing. I was raised on it," I say, voice low, steady as I can make it. "I don’t use shields. It set me up to lose and I hate losing. I don’t—didn’t—lose." The words start tumbling and I can’t stop them. "I was better than this as a kid. I was trained by people who were trained be assassins since they were children. I took on adults and won. I was faster, stronger, steadier. And now—" I gesture at myself, frustration bleeding from me, breath smoking in the Deepfrost air. "Now I’ve got this body that went soft while I grew up. Like I lost years of training and practice I should’ve had. It betrays me at every turn. I mess up, and I smile through it like an idiot, and—" the next words scrape out before I can swallow them—"and this body is just useless, I am useless. I keep trying and I keep falling short it and I hate it. I really, really hate losing."
I snap my mouth shut, the cold stinging my eyes as I realize how much I’ve spilled. I rake a hand through my hair and half-turn away, eyes to the ground. "Sorry. Never know when to shut up and all that."
that's how it's done
