Mel watched mutely as he wrestled with the reality of their situation, wetting her lips and worrying the notch in her upper lip. There was nothing she could do but watch... and be there.
He spoke of being homesick and of longing, things that she had intentionally tried not to think of herself, and yet she found a crippling emptiness that threatened to see her collapse in on herself like a house of cards. Melinoë did not have a home shore to return to. Even if they might have found a way to return from whence they'd come, where would she go? What would she have?
Are spoke her name, and she shook her head. "Huh- oh- no-" Blinking she turned toward him, having rested her chin on her knuckles. "I don't even have my own name to keep alive, much less anyone else's." Distracted or distraught - the hollow ring in her voice might have been interpreted either way. She had not spoken to anyone about the concept of memories or her tenuous grasp on her own since arriving, the topic made her feel almost as vulnerable as Are must have recounting his missing wife. "Memories sometimes come to me but it's like... looking at a street through the moth holes in a curtain." Her brows knit and her throat clicked as she swallowed, her gaze darting away. Her face felt hot as she grappled with the words that came next, trying to control them something akin to trying to stay on top of a bucking bull. "I'm the one who died, I'm the one that will be forgotten. Not them." She managed to maintain a civil volume, though it was clear the turn in conversation had stirred up an unresolved seed of grief concerning her own vanishing. The thought that she did not know if those faces she recalled in snippets of her past come to surface even recalled her. Had there been a funeral? A stone? Did it matter?
She pressed her lips together and chewed at the notch in her lip, focusing on a distant point on the floor. As her cool came back to her, she sniffed a breath and shook her head, attempting to pretend that she had not nearly burst into hot angry tears. She was fine. There was no proof, Are's story would never hold up in court if she could only put back together the cool stoicism and posh flippancy she'd come to rely on in times of emotional turmoil. "I have a name on me - Flynt. Whoever that is."
And so it was like a magic trick - emotional outburst? Never happened!
He spoke of being homesick and of longing, things that she had intentionally tried not to think of herself, and yet she found a crippling emptiness that threatened to see her collapse in on herself like a house of cards. Melinoë did not have a home shore to return to. Even if they might have found a way to return from whence they'd come, where would she go? What would she have?
Are spoke her name, and she shook her head. "Huh- oh- no-" Blinking she turned toward him, having rested her chin on her knuckles. "I don't even have my own name to keep alive, much less anyone else's." Distracted or distraught - the hollow ring in her voice might have been interpreted either way. She had not spoken to anyone about the concept of memories or her tenuous grasp on her own since arriving, the topic made her feel almost as vulnerable as Are must have recounting his missing wife. "Memories sometimes come to me but it's like... looking at a street through the moth holes in a curtain." Her brows knit and her throat clicked as she swallowed, her gaze darting away. Her face felt hot as she grappled with the words that came next, trying to control them something akin to trying to stay on top of a bucking bull. "I'm the one who died, I'm the one that will be forgotten. Not them." She managed to maintain a civil volume, though it was clear the turn in conversation had stirred up an unresolved seed of grief concerning her own vanishing. The thought that she did not know if those faces she recalled in snippets of her past come to surface even recalled her. Had there been a funeral? A stone? Did it matter?
She pressed her lips together and chewed at the notch in her lip, focusing on a distant point on the floor. As her cool came back to her, she sniffed a breath and shook her head, attempting to pretend that she had not nearly burst into hot angry tears. She was fine. There was no proof, Are's story would never hold up in court if she could only put back together the cool stoicism and posh flippancy she'd come to rely on in times of emotional turmoil. "I have a name on me - Flynt. Whoever that is."
And so it was like a magic trick - emotional outburst? Never happened!
