tell me Atlas what is heavier?
the world or its peoples hearts?
the world or its peoples hearts?
The lack of returned bite makes him subside, the animal within - or perhaps the darkness, whatever it is she has summoned forth - tilting its head and regarding her anew. Regret slowly simmers up from gullet to become gorge in his throat. For all she had courted it, he had been the one to relent, to loosen the reigns. To hurt her. Now, there is only regret. "This is why we wear the masks we do," he whispers, and it's the only apology he's capable of making.
Though something she says does resonate with him, causing him to frown, considering. "Ludo is Mort's herald - maybe it can interrupt your soul returning to the Voice? Or poison it, or even just examine where it goes, to find her weakness?" He's not unaware that what he's implying would lead to her death, but considering she'd mentioned it first, Harper hopes she'll forgive him such a grave topic.
Interest is not something she need fear. He hangs on every word, sharp and attentive. Frowning, empathy at an all time high as she speaks of drowning. "They would hold our heads underwater until we passed out to teach us how to control our panic if we were being tortured with drowning for information," he shares quietly. Why, he doesn't know. To let her know she's not alone, even if his own drownings had not killed him?
As her hand parts from his shirt his eyes snap down to it, uncertain why it feels so urgent. Harper lets her take his hand all the same, and wrinkles his brows at the sight of the ring as it's pressed into his palm, right over the faint scar from where he'd saved Seren and torn it open. "Thank you, Maea," he murmurs, feeling humbled and ashamed for how he'd hurt her, for losing control over the mask even when she'd forced her fingertips below the seam to pull it away. His fingers curl around the ring, and his other hand reaches to encircle her small wrist before it pulls entirely away. Blue eyes rise to meet opalescent partners. "If I know anything, it's this - change, even the kind you've been through? It doesn't have to stick entirely. Save the parts you want to save. The rest is sand; let it go, and leave it in the waters where you died. Build upon the roots you choose."
Though something she says does resonate with him, causing him to frown, considering. "Ludo is Mort's herald - maybe it can interrupt your soul returning to the Voice? Or poison it, or even just examine where it goes, to find her weakness?" He's not unaware that what he's implying would lead to her death, but considering she'd mentioned it first, Harper hopes she'll forgive him such a grave topic.
Interest is not something she need fear. He hangs on every word, sharp and attentive. Frowning, empathy at an all time high as she speaks of drowning. "They would hold our heads underwater until we passed out to teach us how to control our panic if we were being tortured with drowning for information," he shares quietly. Why, he doesn't know. To let her know she's not alone, even if his own drownings had not killed him?
As her hand parts from his shirt his eyes snap down to it, uncertain why it feels so urgent. Harper lets her take his hand all the same, and wrinkles his brows at the sight of the ring as it's pressed into his palm, right over the faint scar from where he'd saved Seren and torn it open. "Thank you, Maea," he murmurs, feeling humbled and ashamed for how he'd hurt her, for losing control over the mask even when she'd forced her fingertips below the seam to pull it away. His fingers curl around the ring, and his other hand reaches to encircle her small wrist before it pulls entirely away. Blue eyes rise to meet opalescent partners. "If I know anything, it's this - change, even the kind you've been through? It doesn't have to stick entirely. Save the parts you want to save. The rest is sand; let it go, and leave it in the waters where you died. Build upon the roots you choose."
Harper
