LOREN
Why?
Because he was trying to think.
Because he’d acted without thinking.
Because he was an idiot, and he hurt people, and he couldn’t seem to do anything right, even when it seemed so straightforward, maybe especially when it seemed so straightforward.
Loren didn’t have an answer for her, but as Amalia snapped at him he froze. And as the baker scrambled across the floor towards him, he just hugged himself, too tired to be worried about anything but how monumentally he’d screwed up. If she wanted justice or revenge, well, he knew he deserved it: even his healing magic, which should be pure and good had betrayed him. But that was just because every time he reached for the light it burned him and he fell further into the darkness.
It was because he was always the root of the problem, not any other external or internal factor.
As she knelt before him, he sank to the floor, back against the wall. Then he drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them. He found that he couldn’t meet her eyes, so he looked away and tried not to cry. It became easier as the initial panic and sadness faded and he was just left with the dull ache that was far more familiar to him these days. ”I’m sorry.” His repeated apology was even quieter than the first one, and yet it carried with it the bone-deep exhaustion that he felt. ”I...I can’t take it back. I c-can't give you back your scars.” Considering how long he’d carried his own around for, he should’ve realized that Amalia might want to keep hers as well.
Because he was trying to think.
Because he’d acted without thinking.
Because he was an idiot, and he hurt people, and he couldn’t seem to do anything right, even when it seemed so straightforward, maybe especially when it seemed so straightforward.
Loren didn’t have an answer for her, but as Amalia snapped at him he froze. And as the baker scrambled across the floor towards him, he just hugged himself, too tired to be worried about anything but how monumentally he’d screwed up. If she wanted justice or revenge, well, he knew he deserved it: even his healing magic, which should be pure and good had betrayed him. But that was just because every time he reached for the light it burned him and he fell further into the darkness.
It was because he was always the root of the problem, not any other external or internal factor.
As she knelt before him, he sank to the floor, back against the wall. Then he drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them. He found that he couldn’t meet her eyes, so he looked away and tried not to cry. It became easier as the initial panic and sadness faded and he was just left with the dull ache that was far more familiar to him these days. ”I’m sorry.” His repeated apology was even quieter than the first one, and yet it carried with it the bone-deep exhaustion that he felt. ”I...I can’t take it back. I c-can't give you back your scars.” Considering how long he’d carried his own around for, he should’ve realized that Amalia might want to keep hers as well.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
