if it doesn't burn a little
Maybe the Old Gods showed up for those not like her, but they did not show up for the likes of her. And particularly, they simply did not show up for her. She has met other Abandoned who have at least met a herald on occasion, have been given some small sliver of attention. Weaver has never been given even that. Amalia’s sorry is heartfelt, and Weaver simply nods in her direction. Perhaps Amalia feels for her given that she knows what it is like to be highly favored, or perhaps she’s simply sorry because she hoped for a different answer. In the end, Weaver doesn’t hold either against her. She meets Deimos’s eyes as he nods at her, understanding as Amalia perhaps does not.
One lantern done, Weaver stands and grabs a scone, giving Deimos a look as if she might fight him for them. It is a joke, of course, the same type of look she would have offered Erebor. They are similar, in many ways, Deimos and her brother, and she can’t help but treat her new friend a bit as she would have treated her older brother. Her attention turns to Seiji’s question as she gathers supplies to make another lantern, wanting to honor her mother and step-father as well. They all deserved to be remembered.
”Erebor,” she offers, unafraid of the topic. ”He was a few years older than me. Taught me to hunt.” Her voice is nostalgic, though not sad. She sits back down and begins to construct another lantern, a simple square base of word and the rest made of wire to look like a flame. Around that she will add red tissue, painting in the orange, yellow and white details of a fire. ”I imagine he is watching me, shaking his head every time I do something stupid. I imagine they are all watching us, really.” It may not be true, but it was a comforting daydream nonetheless.
One lantern done, Weaver stands and grabs a scone, giving Deimos a look as if she might fight him for them. It is a joke, of course, the same type of look she would have offered Erebor. They are similar, in many ways, Deimos and her brother, and she can’t help but treat her new friend a bit as she would have treated her older brother. Her attention turns to Seiji’s question as she gathers supplies to make another lantern, wanting to honor her mother and step-father as well. They all deserved to be remembered.
”Erebor,” she offers, unafraid of the topic. ”He was a few years older than me. Taught me to hunt.” Her voice is nostalgic, though not sad. She sits back down and begins to construct another lantern, a simple square base of word and the rest made of wire to look like a flame. Around that she will add red tissue, painting in the orange, yellow and white details of a fire. ”I imagine he is watching me, shaking his head every time I do something stupid. I imagine they are all watching us, really.” It may not be true, but it was a comforting daydream nonetheless.
-- weaver
then what's the point in playing with fire?
