HOTARU
She's in a long black coat tonight
Waiting for me in the downpour outside
Waiting for me in the downpour outside
”All over a fucking building,” she hisses to herself, aware he will hear it but experiencing the same desire to conceal her emotions somehow. Ironic then that they do not blame each other for all they had gleefully gone hand in hand to do it. Aiming that anger and guilt inward instead of out. Her hands don’t shake as she bends to gather ash into her pail, though she stares unblinking at the way it stains her skin.
What he has to say is monumental, and yet it washes over her like the last searching wave reaching for the far end of the beach. Nothing more than a pale imitation, more foam than fury. It had never been Safrin she’d blamed, but the guilt is a stone in her stomach at having dragged Deimos through the mud of her favor. ”Resign?” It is a dark rumble, foreboding. Her knuckles bleed white around the pail’s handle. Blackened hand stains her linen skirt as it clenches there. ”And be chased from our home? For destroying a spy ring that lives in Halo as firmly as here?” Preposterous. Blasphemous. Morgan may have been born there, but Hotaru is arrogant enough to claim those icy reaches as her own. ”How do you intend to earn her favor back by resigning? You should not have to at all. What has she ever done for you? For Halo?” Aside from sitting silent and letting Neron’s fangs touch her throat? And worse, doing so in the dark, ashamed and hunted and fearful? It is a disgrace in so many ways to Hotaru, and her regard for the woman falls away as easily as the ash into the pail when faced with the prospect of elevating her word over Deimos’ happiness. For he would always stand tall above all others regardless of her fondness for them.
What he has to say is monumental, and yet it washes over her like the last searching wave reaching for the far end of the beach. Nothing more than a pale imitation, more foam than fury. It had never been Safrin she’d blamed, but the guilt is a stone in her stomach at having dragged Deimos through the mud of her favor. ”Resign?” It is a dark rumble, foreboding. Her knuckles bleed white around the pail’s handle. Blackened hand stains her linen skirt as it clenches there. ”And be chased from our home? For destroying a spy ring that lives in Halo as firmly as here?” Preposterous. Blasphemous. Morgan may have been born there, but Hotaru is arrogant enough to claim those icy reaches as her own. ”How do you intend to earn her favor back by resigning? You should not have to at all. What has she ever done for you? For Halo?” Aside from sitting silent and letting Neron’s fangs touch her throat? And worse, doing so in the dark, ashamed and hunted and fearful? It is a disgrace in so many ways to Hotaru, and her regard for the woman falls away as easily as the ash into the pail when faced with the prospect of elevating her word over Deimos’ happiness. For he would always stand tall above all others regardless of her fondness for them.
singing "Baby come home" in a melody of tears
While the rhythm of the rain keeps time
While the rhythm of the rain keeps time
