did goodbye mean letting go?
Much as she’d like to defend herself or perhaps snipe back, she doesn’t have the energy or desire to. She is simply tired. Aching and regretful. Distant and hurt. Looking at them makes the glass she feels trapped behind shatter into shards; so she doesn’t do it. There’s a benefit to the distant feeling, though she wouldn’t venture to call it numbness with how everything inside her still feels chafed raw. Like her soul has been rubbed down with a scouring pad.
Instead she follows in their wake, utterly silent. Eyes never straying from the path ahead even as they wind past the Slagveld. The jail is certainly new, and Hotaru can almost hear Deimos’ sharp warnings, but she can’t afford to let his worries become her own. Perhaps she should worry about her own glazed over emotions. Everything feels dreamlike though, and she doesn’t want to have to feel the hurt anymore.
She sits easily enough once they’ve entered a room, crossing her ankles because doing anything more is too much discomfort on her belly. Nate is the only one to speak - if a singular pointed word counts as speaking much of anything. Hotaru folds her hands in her lap, idly rubbing the linen between her fingertips to feel something. Anything. Her gaze is vacant between the two of them, staring at the wall - at least her head is not bowed. It’s the only middle ground Hotaru feels comfortable with.
“I didn’t set the fire.” Truth, if twisted perhaps. “I don’t even possess the magic to do so.” They know of her lightning, but even that scorches and warps instead of burns. That had been entirely Deimos’ power, masterful and unstoppable. “I told Deimos of the Advocates, yes. And I went to find him when I realized he might do something to it; I even ordered everyone out by using my own bracelet, though you would have to find them to confirm I did.” Truth again - nobody had been harmed, and Hotaru had seen to that by ordering everyone out. She’d stood alone in that moment in the Slagveld, Deimos concealed and overlooked. “I left Atlas to guard the door in case they tried to come back in.” Finally her expression cracks, a grief like a raging storm cresting on her featured, twisting them into gnarled, blackened crevices of pain. Hands fist the fabric in her lap, shoulders caving inward. They shake minutely, eyes squeezed shut as she fights her own increased emotional sensitivity to keep some sort of composure in front of them. She doesn’t want them to know how bad it hurts. Doesn’t want to see the proof of how little they fucking care. Deimos’ words had been hard enough to bear. Witnessing it firsthand will surely kill her.
“By time I found him the fire had already blocked the stairwell and I had to follow him out the window. And then somebody killed Atlas - so I tried to kill them in return.” That is the raw truth, unashamed of her response, and her eyes open slowly to stare at her white knuckles. “Was I angry and hurt when I was here? Yes. Did it occur to me to let it burn? Yes. But I have no magic that could have stopped it even if I wanted to.” No incantations and mastery over water or air. Only violence in the form of lightning from the heavens. “That is my statement.” Because if they want to treat this in an official capacity, Hotaru will do the same. Devoid of feeling. Tucked away in a shell where they can’t hurt her, where nobody can.
Instead she follows in their wake, utterly silent. Eyes never straying from the path ahead even as they wind past the Slagveld. The jail is certainly new, and Hotaru can almost hear Deimos’ sharp warnings, but she can’t afford to let his worries become her own. Perhaps she should worry about her own glazed over emotions. Everything feels dreamlike though, and she doesn’t want to have to feel the hurt anymore.
She sits easily enough once they’ve entered a room, crossing her ankles because doing anything more is too much discomfort on her belly. Nate is the only one to speak - if a singular pointed word counts as speaking much of anything. Hotaru folds her hands in her lap, idly rubbing the linen between her fingertips to feel something. Anything. Her gaze is vacant between the two of them, staring at the wall - at least her head is not bowed. It’s the only middle ground Hotaru feels comfortable with.
“I didn’t set the fire.” Truth, if twisted perhaps. “I don’t even possess the magic to do so.” They know of her lightning, but even that scorches and warps instead of burns. That had been entirely Deimos’ power, masterful and unstoppable. “I told Deimos of the Advocates, yes. And I went to find him when I realized he might do something to it; I even ordered everyone out by using my own bracelet, though you would have to find them to confirm I did.” Truth again - nobody had been harmed, and Hotaru had seen to that by ordering everyone out. She’d stood alone in that moment in the Slagveld, Deimos concealed and overlooked. “I left Atlas to guard the door in case they tried to come back in.” Finally her expression cracks, a grief like a raging storm cresting on her featured, twisting them into gnarled, blackened crevices of pain. Hands fist the fabric in her lap, shoulders caving inward. They shake minutely, eyes squeezed shut as she fights her own increased emotional sensitivity to keep some sort of composure in front of them. She doesn’t want them to know how bad it hurts. Doesn’t want to see the proof of how little they fucking care. Deimos’ words had been hard enough to bear. Witnessing it firsthand will surely kill her.
“By time I found him the fire had already blocked the stairwell and I had to follow him out the window. And then somebody killed Atlas - so I tried to kill them in return.” That is the raw truth, unashamed of her response, and her eyes open slowly to stare at her white knuckles. “Was I angry and hurt when I was here? Yes. Did it occur to me to let it burn? Yes. But I have no magic that could have stopped it even if I wanted to.” No incantations and mastery over water or air. Only violence in the form of lightning from the heavens. “That is my statement.” Because if they want to treat this in an official capacity, Hotaru will do the same. Devoid of feeling. Tucked away in a shell where they can’t hurt her, where nobody can.
and did letting go mean forever?
HOTARU
