That’s the thing, there’s this mistaken belief that the holes fill in, that time heals them. Anyone with holes in their heart though knows better, knows that it’s a lie told to pretend like it will get better. The holes don’t fill in. There are holes in her heart the size and shape of her mother, her brother, her step-father. They will always be there, and they never cease to hurt. In the mornings when she finds herself in that hazy place between waking and sleep there is a moment, just a moment, when she can forget the holes. That moment before reality slams back into place and the holes ache as if fresh all over again, and then she remembers and the ache becomes a bruise, a thing she knows how to live with.
That is the thing to learn. The holes do not fill in. If you keep expecting they will, keep hoping they will, you will never learn to keep living. Life is made of pain.
He tells her he’d been here for over a year, and she wonders how long Outlanders had been getting ripped from their homes and thrust into Caido. She wants to ask about his past. Where did he come from? What was it like? She’d heard of some from different times, some simply from different lands, and she wonders what else is out there. How strange to think there are other worlds, other timelines, other ways to live. She will never know them, for Halo is home, though it was changing now. Outlanders chucked into their midst, new leadership, and a world slowly opening to them.
He speaks of LongNight and retorts flash to her lips though she seals them shut. LongNight is her life, though she knows it is a worse version of her everyday. Halo is dark and full of monsters, but LongNight is it’s next level. And it is not the way they live here in the Hallowed Grounds. They are not used to hiding inside and learning to keep the fires burning. It is one of the first things you learn in Halo, sometimes before you can walk. She had, but of course, she had the sort of mother that didn’t actually mind if she got burned.
He mentioned some festival of survival and the gods, and she can’t help but scoff. “I am not so sure things with the gods ever go well.” But of course, she has always been bitter toward the lot of them, given her invisible status to them. The gods had little interest in her kind and she’d grown up with the disadvantage.
The topic shifts to the present, to this ritual of capturing the sun to keep the days long and bright. She has no such interest. Her days were blinding and still cold, and capturing the sun did her no good. But for the rest of the world, she can understand the appeal. “Ah,” she says, and there’s something familiar about the story, an image of a tiny Weaver in bed and her mother sitting on the side of it. “I’m pretty sure my mother’s version involved monsters. But then again, all of her stories included monsters.” Maybe it had been a scare tactic, but Weaver doubted it. Likely Straia was just teaching her the truth. Not all monsters were obvious, but they were everywhere.
His sword clashes against her blade, the sound of metal ringing on metal echoing around them. There is something beautiful and primal about the sound, about the clash of steel, and she grins though it’s half a grimace as he simply pushes. He is stronger than her, and she knows she cannot win a battle of pure force. She takes a step backward and then spins left, ducking out from beneath the weight of his sword and taking a hand from the scythe. She grabs a knife and tries to spin close to him, tries to use her shorter height to sneak in under his guard to stick a knife into his side (not literally, of course, but to pretend). If he could play to his strengths, she could play to hers.
“Have you been to Halo?” she asks, curious if he’d been in the parties of people that came to explore a land already lived in, if he’d been there to crash into their lives. Not that she blames him, because in the end if not him then someone else and what did it matter, it was done. Still, she is curious to know.
That is the thing to learn. The holes do not fill in. If you keep expecting they will, keep hoping they will, you will never learn to keep living. Life is made of pain.
He tells her he’d been here for over a year, and she wonders how long Outlanders had been getting ripped from their homes and thrust into Caido. She wants to ask about his past. Where did he come from? What was it like? She’d heard of some from different times, some simply from different lands, and she wonders what else is out there. How strange to think there are other worlds, other timelines, other ways to live. She will never know them, for Halo is home, though it was changing now. Outlanders chucked into their midst, new leadership, and a world slowly opening to them.
He speaks of LongNight and retorts flash to her lips though she seals them shut. LongNight is her life, though she knows it is a worse version of her everyday. Halo is dark and full of monsters, but LongNight is it’s next level. And it is not the way they live here in the Hallowed Grounds. They are not used to hiding inside and learning to keep the fires burning. It is one of the first things you learn in Halo, sometimes before you can walk. She had, but of course, she had the sort of mother that didn’t actually mind if she got burned.
He mentioned some festival of survival and the gods, and she can’t help but scoff. “I am not so sure things with the gods ever go well.” But of course, she has always been bitter toward the lot of them, given her invisible status to them. The gods had little interest in her kind and she’d grown up with the disadvantage.
The topic shifts to the present, to this ritual of capturing the sun to keep the days long and bright. She has no such interest. Her days were blinding and still cold, and capturing the sun did her no good. But for the rest of the world, she can understand the appeal. “Ah,” she says, and there’s something familiar about the story, an image of a tiny Weaver in bed and her mother sitting on the side of it. “I’m pretty sure my mother’s version involved monsters. But then again, all of her stories included monsters.” Maybe it had been a scare tactic, but Weaver doubted it. Likely Straia was just teaching her the truth. Not all monsters were obvious, but they were everywhere.
His sword clashes against her blade, the sound of metal ringing on metal echoing around them. There is something beautiful and primal about the sound, about the clash of steel, and she grins though it’s half a grimace as he simply pushes. He is stronger than her, and she knows she cannot win a battle of pure force. She takes a step backward and then spins left, ducking out from beneath the weight of his sword and taking a hand from the scythe. She grabs a knife and tries to spin close to him, tries to use her shorter height to sneak in under his guard to stick a knife into his side (not literally, of course, but to pretend). If he could play to his strengths, she could play to hers.
“Have you been to Halo?” she asks, curious if he’d been in the parties of people that came to explore a land already lived in, if he’d been there to crash into their lives. Not that she blames him, because in the end if not him then someone else and what did it matter, it was done. Still, she is curious to know.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
