KIADA
He doesn’t try to make her forgive him, and she’s thankful for that. She doesn’t have the words to articulate it, to tell him how she needs time, even if she doesn’t know how much time she’ll have left at the end of it. She can feel herself changing, feel the exhaustion that’s set deep within her bones. And she finds she’d much rather have the curse of forever drowning from Kisamoa than this terrible black tar that weighs on her soul and mind, body and heart.
His hands lower and she fidgets with the ring, watching briefly as his attention drifts to it. She has half a mind to withdraw her hands beneath the blankets, to keep her secrets to herself. But he’s already seen, and it does no use anymore. None of it matters anymore. And she slowly begins to understand all of it.
Her eyes lift to his face as he begins to ask her how long she’s had it, and all she can think of is the Cloister, when the rage at seeing Melita had overcome her – and had it not been for Amalia, she might have forgone the point of the entire trial and aimed to fight the red haired girl to the death. It’s a thing she regrets, but she’s far too tired to think up all of those scenarios too. Instead, she puffs out a quiet sigh of a breath, head tilting back toward the fireplace.
“The Cloister, at least. That’s when I noticed it.” She tells him, defeated, angry, bitter about the entire ordeal. Maybe had she not been sick, she could have stood a chance against the Fae’s Chieftain. But she bites down on the retorts, looking back to his shaking hands with a dark raised brow. “How long for you?” She tilts her head.
His hands lower and she fidgets with the ring, watching briefly as his attention drifts to it. She has half a mind to withdraw her hands beneath the blankets, to keep her secrets to herself. But he’s already seen, and it does no use anymore. None of it matters anymore. And she slowly begins to understand all of it.
Her eyes lift to his face as he begins to ask her how long she’s had it, and all she can think of is the Cloister, when the rage at seeing Melita had overcome her – and had it not been for Amalia, she might have forgone the point of the entire trial and aimed to fight the red haired girl to the death. It’s a thing she regrets, but she’s far too tired to think up all of those scenarios too. Instead, she puffs out a quiet sigh of a breath, head tilting back toward the fireplace.
“The Cloister, at least. That’s when I noticed it.” She tells him, defeated, angry, bitter about the entire ordeal. Maybe had she not been sick, she could have stood a chance against the Fae’s Chieftain. But she bites down on the retorts, looking back to his shaking hands with a dark raised brow. “How long for you?” She tilts her head.
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
