as I hold my soul all the music pours out
“It was an accident,” Falke begins, calling her bluff. “When I was a teenager. They did their best to reset the bone, but I was never one to be still, then.” So he pushed himself and re-injured it, and the second time wasn’t nearly as fixable as the first. Regret once colored the way he spoke about the accident, but that sort of longing for what might have been has been replaced with acceptance of his path in life. “A lack of patience and trust in healers led me to hurt myself more. It wasn’t until I listened that I realized the magnitude of what they were trying to fix.”
And without healing magic, which of course Falke knows about. It’s an abomination, but perhaps the least-abonimable of the mutations and one he privately thinks might be useful, if used in conjunction with learned skill and training.
“But back to what I asked about,” he continues smoothly, the transition from one topic to the next as elegant and natural as he could make it. “Both times they’ve come up, you’ve been visibly upset. I don’t say that as a judgement, just as an observation.” And to this he shrugs, looking at the demigod with what he hopes is a frank, but kind expression and wondering how she became so murky - transparent in places and dark, debris-filled in others.
“Everyone in Stormbreak can sign up for a time to speak with me if they want to. I only have to report on the Order members and you aren’t an Order member, so…” she can figure out the rest. As for the Fixer, he will leave it at that, offer delivered and safety assured. The Fixer caps it with a small smile, dragging his eyes back down to his books, feeling like Amalia is very much like a caged animal who must decide she wants to trust on her own terms.
And without healing magic, which of course Falke knows about. It’s an abomination, but perhaps the least-abonimable of the mutations and one he privately thinks might be useful, if used in conjunction with learned skill and training.
“But back to what I asked about,” he continues smoothly, the transition from one topic to the next as elegant and natural as he could make it. “Both times they’ve come up, you’ve been visibly upset. I don’t say that as a judgement, just as an observation.” And to this he shrugs, looking at the demigod with what he hopes is a frank, but kind expression and wondering how she became so murky - transparent in places and dark, debris-filled in others.
“Everyone in Stormbreak can sign up for a time to speak with me if they want to. I only have to report on the Order members and you aren’t an Order member, so…” she can figure out the rest. As for the Fixer, he will leave it at that, offer delivered and safety assured. The Fixer caps it with a small smile, dragging his eyes back down to his books, feeling like Amalia is very much like a caged animal who must decide she wants to trust on her own terms.
THE 'FIXER'
the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets
