Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away
Maea could forgive many things. This thorny bramble of an attitude took nothing to overcome. She had poked and prodded the cat until it showed its claws; what right did she have to blame it when the scratches stung? There was a mildness to her faint smile that contrasted sharply against her initial coldness, putting the question out as to which face was the true one. Perhaps, much like Harper, she was both of these things. Warm and caring to those who cared about her. Cold and disconnected from everything that did not make an effort to approach.
"Your mask is a pretty one, true," she murmured quietly. "But I don't dislike what's beneath it. Thank you for showing me... I feel as though I know you a bit better now." How strangely soothing it was to not be alone with bloodstains on her hands.
The hand around her wrist stopped her from withdrawing further. Much too easily. Maea glanced down at his hand with a distant sort of curiosity, and cocked her head aside while listening. Harper made it sound so simple. Like it was only a matter of choice, like her every decision was not forged based on past experience. Much like every dank and moist clump of peat in the swamp was a remnant of something else, dead and buried... but could anything take root in this fabrication of life that she had become?
"I can try," she conceded, more to console him than because she believed it would work. "I don't think Ludo would care to help me, even if it could... but I can try approaching a shrine. The worst outcome... is either nothing happens, or I die. Which will happen soon anyway, if I don't approach the Voice." Blood could only stave off the inevitable, after all.
"Your mask is a pretty one, true," she murmured quietly. "But I don't dislike what's beneath it. Thank you for showing me... I feel as though I know you a bit better now." How strangely soothing it was to not be alone with bloodstains on her hands.
The hand around her wrist stopped her from withdrawing further. Much too easily. Maea glanced down at his hand with a distant sort of curiosity, and cocked her head aside while listening. Harper made it sound so simple. Like it was only a matter of choice, like her every decision was not forged based on past experience. Much like every dank and moist clump of peat in the swamp was a remnant of something else, dead and buried... but could anything take root in this fabrication of life that she had become?
"I can try," she conceded, more to console him than because she believed it would work. "I don't think Ludo would care to help me, even if it could... but I can try approaching a shrine. The worst outcome... is either nothing happens, or I die. Which will happen soon anyway, if I don't approach the Voice." Blood could only stave off the inevitable, after all.
