LOREN
When Amalia’s thanks cut off, Loren knew he’d made another mistake. Once more, he’d forgotten that not everyone wanted or needed his healing; he’d been so caught up in repairing the damage that he’d done to the baker during the spar that he hadn’t been paying close enough attention to what else his magic might be doing. Besides, he still wasn’t used to having this much healing magic at his beck and call, and it took him by surprise as well.
However, as she backpedaled and turned a stricken face towards him—and he realized that those thoughts were just convenient excuses—he screwed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the exhausted tears that threatened to spill. He felt fractured inside, and this encounter had just added another crack to his shattered heart. ”I-I’m sorry. I was just...just trying to heal you from the wounds I inflicted, the, the, damage I did.” Although he spoke in a soft and broken whisper, hopefully she’d be able to hear him.
Even if she probably wouldn’t be able to understand or forgive. He knew that would be asking too much.
There was more he knew he needed to say. ”I should’ve...I should’ve asked.” As always, he’d rushed ahead, only considering himself and what he wanted to do. He needed to learn how to take others’ feelings and wants and desires into consideration: just because healing magic couldn’t hurt someone physically didn’t mean it couldn’t do any harm.
No doubt Amalia wanted nothing more to do with him, so he sat up, then stumbled to his feet. Eyes not really seeing, though they were open now, he somehow managed to find his way to the wall opposite her, and slumped against it. Presumably she wouldn’t ask him for that drink now, not after he’d used magic on her without her permission. He of all people should know how much that could hurt, and yet time and time again he blundered recklessly ahead.
Well. No more. If he had to stay away from people besides the bare minimum to keep them safe from him, he would. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d tried to do so, but he certainly hoped it would be the last.
However, as she backpedaled and turned a stricken face towards him—and he realized that those thoughts were just convenient excuses—he screwed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the exhausted tears that threatened to spill. He felt fractured inside, and this encounter had just added another crack to his shattered heart. ”I-I’m sorry. I was just...just trying to heal you from the wounds I inflicted, the, the, damage I did.” Although he spoke in a soft and broken whisper, hopefully she’d be able to hear him.
Even if she probably wouldn’t be able to understand or forgive. He knew that would be asking too much.
There was more he knew he needed to say. ”I should’ve...I should’ve asked.” As always, he’d rushed ahead, only considering himself and what he wanted to do. He needed to learn how to take others’ feelings and wants and desires into consideration: just because healing magic couldn’t hurt someone physically didn’t mean it couldn’t do any harm.
No doubt Amalia wanted nothing more to do with him, so he sat up, then stumbled to his feet. Eyes not really seeing, though they were open now, he somehow managed to find his way to the wall opposite her, and slumped against it. Presumably she wouldn’t ask him for that drink now, not after he’d used magic on her without her permission. He of all people should know how much that could hurt, and yet time and time again he blundered recklessly ahead.
Well. No more. If he had to stay away from people besides the bare minimum to keep them safe from him, he would. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d tried to do so, but he certainly hoped it would be the last.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
