you wouldn't even recognize me anymore
not that you knew me back then
A damned mess it was, and Wessex is about to make it messier.
Like Deimos, she seethes and broods, but to a lesser degree. Maybe it’s that her face isn’t made for the scowling that dark beards and eyebrows and long hair seem to invite. Maybe it’s beause she hasn’t been to see Amalia, hasn’t really had anyone to decompress and debrief with about the whole fiasco. There was physical healing, but that doesn’t work on the soul, which requires action and words. The very thing Deimos is doing, really.
She wanders along for a moment after he says it doesn’t matter what kind of leaf, peering into the crevices for something. “Fallen off the limb almost dead, or curling on the branch almost dead?” Which isn’t want she actually wants to say, but fills the silence and opens her mouth, allows for impetus. As if by saying something, she can inch forward to what she actually wants to say, explosive and volatile as it is. And in her next not-breath she’s there, resolved to say it, consequences be damned.
“Did Jigano help you find any leaves?” she asks, quietly bursting with bitterness. “He could have prevented this, you know. Twice. Had more than enough opportunity to heal her and he didn’t. Tried to single-handedly be the hero instead of reading the situation.” For all his ‘love’ of Amalia, he left her to someone who had already successfully engaged Ronin away from the Temple. Who could have teleported him out. And what did he do? Told Ronin to fight him, like that was going to do anything. Could have dragon-ed and didn’t. Goddess only knows what he could have done and didn’t.
A growl echoes somewhere in her chest as she finds some leftover mother-like anger. For all of the many, many differences between herself and Amalia, there is also a deep, protective love for the girl, and it is stronger than their rifts.
Like Deimos, she seethes and broods, but to a lesser degree. Maybe it’s that her face isn’t made for the scowling that dark beards and eyebrows and long hair seem to invite. Maybe it’s beause she hasn’t been to see Amalia, hasn’t really had anyone to decompress and debrief with about the whole fiasco. There was physical healing, but that doesn’t work on the soul, which requires action and words. The very thing Deimos is doing, really.
She wanders along for a moment after he says it doesn’t matter what kind of leaf, peering into the crevices for something. “Fallen off the limb almost dead, or curling on the branch almost dead?” Which isn’t want she actually wants to say, but fills the silence and opens her mouth, allows for impetus. As if by saying something, she can inch forward to what she actually wants to say, explosive and volatile as it is. And in her next not-breath she’s there, resolved to say it, consequences be damned.
“Did Jigano help you find any leaves?” she asks, quietly bursting with bitterness. “He could have prevented this, you know. Twice. Had more than enough opportunity to heal her and he didn’t. Tried to single-handedly be the hero instead of reading the situation.” For all his ‘love’ of Amalia, he left her to someone who had already successfully engaged Ronin away from the Temple. Who could have teleported him out. And what did he do? Told Ronin to fight him, like that was going to do anything. Could have dragon-ed and didn’t. Goddess only knows what he could have done and didn’t.
A growl echoes somewhere in her chest as she finds some leftover mother-like anger. For all of the many, many differences between herself and Amalia, there is also a deep, protective love for the girl, and it is stronger than their rifts.
but it all comes back to me in the end
WESSEX
