Told you not to worry, but maybe that's a lie
"No. It wouldn't've killed me."
The words grip at her, sharp and telling, evidence that he could have been kind, he could have been soft, he could have helped, but that she hadn't deserved that from him. She'd pushed too hard, been too sharp, again. She has to look away for a moment, finding the truth hard to swallow and finding it hard to look at him without wishing things could have been different.
Maybe it was how he'd stuck around despite it all, how he'd seemed to care enough to clarify his intentions when he'd offended her then implied she was something worth admiring, how he'd offered the clothes he was wearing for her injury and gave her the space she needed to preserve her pride, how he'd somehow started taking more space in her thoughts. None of it screamed kindness or compassion, but it had been enough to make her hope, to hint at what more might lie beneath his nonchalant exterior.
But he speaks and she knows that any compassion he has isn't for her - that it never will be. It hurts, a knife stabbed between her ribs, knowing that her hand is the one on the hilt with no one to pull it out. She hides the majority of the wince, but the sharp blink is too forced, her voice tight around the agreement. "You say that like I don't know, but I know that better than anyone." It's why she's willing to rip the world apart for the few friends she has, and why losing even one of them pains her all the more.
His heavy sigh draws her, bringing clarity with it now that she's beginning to understand the rest. Things finally click, the realization that her avoidance had cost much more than the trauma riddling her thoughts, that it would have ruined everything even if she hadn't been infected; but no matter how much she regrets it - no matter how much she hates herself for every weakness it exposes - nothing will change what she'd done or the choice she'd made in seeking Pierce out. It puts an ashen taste on her tongue, the excuse weak and fragile as her tail falls gently behind her. "I didn't have a reason to hate him at the time." The words are quiet, filled with the rare admission of naivety and the possibility of things having been different if she'd known, almost an apology even if she can't bring herself to say it. If she'd known more, if she'd learned of the connection to Vesper, if she'd stopped to think beyond the need to escape whatever was brewing, maybe she'd have made a different choice, maybe she'd have found a reason not to seek him. But alas, Vesper doesn't seem to care why or how she'd come to her decision, having already drawn the verdict regardless, and she doubts apologizing now will be worth the embarrassment. So she tucks it away, something only she'll be able to see in the darkness when no one is watching.
For a moment, there's only sadness between them, the weight of his gaze and the words she leaves unspoken like smoke drifting into images of something that could have been, various futures they might have had, but it clears with her broken smile and a huff of his breath. She blinks. "I didn't - " she fails to find the words and settles for a sigh that pulls at her shoulders, too emotionally raw to continue arguing the same points she's already admitted to when it hadn't even been her intention. Shaking her head of whatever accusations she might have thrown, Thal finally says, "I only meant that you've said your piece and I get it." Vesper didn't need to worry about whether she understood or
Part of her wants to give a biting response, to feel angry that he's leaving her again, but the emotion suddenly feels out of reach, replaced by the sorrows and regrets that have taken its place, knowing she's the reason. Instead, she gives a numb nod of her head, trying not to think about what next time might look like. Her voice tries to hide the internal struggle, coming out empty and flat as she watches the distance between them grow, "Yeah." She fights the urge to follow, knowing it wouldn't change anything beyond showing a desperation she doesn't feel. The only thing she offers him is a soft whisper, one she knows he won't hear, one broken and filled with the vulnerable parts of her. "Bye, Vesper."
She waits a moment longer, listening carefully for his departure and the return of her heartbeat. When she can think beyond his retreating silhouette, her feet are padding softly through the blood streaked water towards the discarded bottle. Thal takes a few deep chugs of the alcohol, wiping at her face when the burn of the liquor moistens her eyes. Then, when she feels the ache retreat enough to make room for something stronger, she faces the room where it all began.
"I hope you're suffering wherever you are, and if you dare to ever show your face here again" - she throws the bottle across the room, crashing her flames against the glass to watch it shatter in an explosion of sparks and shards - "I will be the one to end you." It's a promise to the universe, her eyes glowing in the blazing fire like they might carry the message across the stars, the words written in violence and scorched betrayals, a warning sign sealed in flames and blood as they devour the evidence.
[FIN]
The words grip at her, sharp and telling, evidence that he could have been kind, he could have been soft, he could have helped, but that she hadn't deserved that from him. She'd pushed too hard, been too sharp, again. She has to look away for a moment, finding the truth hard to swallow and finding it hard to look at him without wishing things could have been different.
Maybe it was how he'd stuck around despite it all, how he'd seemed to care enough to clarify his intentions when he'd offended her then implied she was something worth admiring, how he'd offered the clothes he was wearing for her injury and gave her the space she needed to preserve her pride, how he'd somehow started taking more space in her thoughts. None of it screamed kindness or compassion, but it had been enough to make her hope, to hint at what more might lie beneath his nonchalant exterior.
But he speaks and she knows that any compassion he has isn't for her - that it never will be. It hurts, a knife stabbed between her ribs, knowing that her hand is the one on the hilt with no one to pull it out. She hides the majority of the wince, but the sharp blink is too forced, her voice tight around the agreement. "You say that like I don't know, but I know that better than anyone." It's why she's willing to rip the world apart for the few friends she has, and why losing even one of them pains her all the more.
His heavy sigh draws her, bringing clarity with it now that she's beginning to understand the rest. Things finally click, the realization that her avoidance had cost much more than the trauma riddling her thoughts, that it would have ruined everything even if she hadn't been infected; but no matter how much she regrets it - no matter how much she hates herself for every weakness it exposes - nothing will change what she'd done or the choice she'd made in seeking Pierce out. It puts an ashen taste on her tongue, the excuse weak and fragile as her tail falls gently behind her. "I didn't have a reason to hate him at the time." The words are quiet, filled with the rare admission of naivety and the possibility of things having been different if she'd known, almost an apology even if she can't bring herself to say it. If she'd known more, if she'd learned of the connection to Vesper, if she'd stopped to think beyond the need to escape whatever was brewing, maybe she'd have made a different choice, maybe she'd have found a reason not to seek him. But alas, Vesper doesn't seem to care why or how she'd come to her decision, having already drawn the verdict regardless, and she doubts apologizing now will be worth the embarrassment. So she tucks it away, something only she'll be able to see in the darkness when no one is watching.
For a moment, there's only sadness between them, the weight of his gaze and the words she leaves unspoken like smoke drifting into images of something that could have been, various futures they might have had, but it clears with her broken smile and a huff of his breath. She blinks. "I didn't - " she fails to find the words and settles for a sigh that pulls at her shoulders, too emotionally raw to continue arguing the same points she's already admitted to when it hadn't even been her intention. Shaking her head of whatever accusations she might have thrown, Thal finally says, "I only meant that you've said your piece and I get it." Vesper didn't need to worry about whether she understood or
Part of her wants to give a biting response, to feel angry that he's leaving her again, but the emotion suddenly feels out of reach, replaced by the sorrows and regrets that have taken its place, knowing she's the reason. Instead, she gives a numb nod of her head, trying not to think about what next time might look like. Her voice tries to hide the internal struggle, coming out empty and flat as she watches the distance between them grow, "Yeah." She fights the urge to follow, knowing it wouldn't change anything beyond showing a desperation she doesn't feel. The only thing she offers him is a soft whisper, one she knows he won't hear, one broken and filled with the vulnerable parts of her. "Bye, Vesper."
She waits a moment longer, listening carefully for his departure and the return of her heartbeat. When she can think beyond his retreating silhouette, her feet are padding softly through the blood streaked water towards the discarded bottle. Thal takes a few deep chugs of the alcohol, wiping at her face when the burn of the liquor moistens her eyes. Then, when she feels the ache retreat enough to make room for something stronger, she faces the room where it all began.
"I hope you're suffering wherever you are, and if you dare to ever show your face here again" - she throws the bottle across the room, crashing her flames against the glass to watch it shatter in an explosion of sparks and shards - "I will be the one to end you." It's a promise to the universe, her eyes glowing in the blazing fire like they might carry the message across the stars, the words written in violence and scorched betrayals, a warning sign sealed in flames and blood as they devour the evidence.
[FIN]
Thalassa
Honey, what's your hurry? Won't you stay inside?
