REXANNA
i was born with a knife in one hand
“Yes.” He confirms her suspicions, of the man that had created the ever watchful guardians of the North. Despite their decrepit stance, their crumbling pieces, she had always thought they’d do something. She was always under the impression they were standing at the ready; prepared to protect and fight and bring fear into the hearts of those who dared. But it had been her home too, those statues were as much a part of her memories as they were with the rest of the Basin. And she knew it would never change, despite Deimos’ confirmation they couldn’t be fixed by anyone but Ulrik himself.
And she nods, head tilting as she thinks about it before she snorts. “I never knew they didn't work.” She admits to him with a small smile. She hadn’t been in Helovia long, but the time that she was, she had never even questioned the capability of the monoliths. Had just assumed. And so she watches him next, as her question hangs in the air. What of the children? Because Rexanna had always been too motherly of a soul, despite the masks and poetic words. She would always cease for the innocent young.
And she nods when he tells her of the peace treaty, too, and she tries to imagine what it’s like to move toward such a thing when past events could cloud judgements. But what she knew of Deimos, he was level headed when he needed to be — she had never heard him not be collected. Something of him she envied and strived for. She releases a breath she doesn’t need when Deimos mentions it had worked, a small smile crossing her face.
Until he reveals one had chosen to stay and her brow lifts in response to this too. “Who stayed?” It hangs in the air too, her uncertainty as to what kind of things would keep them there, to make them choose to remain rather than move on, to go home.
And she nods, head tilting as she thinks about it before she snorts. “I never knew they didn't work.” She admits to him with a small smile. She hadn’t been in Helovia long, but the time that she was, she had never even questioned the capability of the monoliths. Had just assumed. And so she watches him next, as her question hangs in the air. What of the children? Because Rexanna had always been too motherly of a soul, despite the masks and poetic words. She would always cease for the innocent young.
And she nods when he tells her of the peace treaty, too, and she tries to imagine what it’s like to move toward such a thing when past events could cloud judgements. But what she knew of Deimos, he was level headed when he needed to be — she had never heard him not be collected. Something of him she envied and strived for. She releases a breath she doesn’t need when Deimos mentions it had worked, a small smile crossing her face.
Until he reveals one had chosen to stay and her brow lifts in response to this too. “Who stayed?” It hangs in the air too, her uncertainty as to what kind of things would keep them there, to make them choose to remain rather than move on, to go home.
and a wound in the other
