a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
“No, it’s okay.” He tries to insist, tries to pretend as though the fact that he had life drain and could in theory heal without it was fine to him. Besides, he was a crafter. That’s what he did. He was supposed to take up the name of the business from his parents and move on keeping the dream alive. He has to stay. And so he does.
But the healing magic doesn’t work, just as Glas had imagined it wouldn’t — because they’d tried to rid the scar on his face, tried to fix the wrongs his parents saw in his mind, and nothing had worked. He just had to deal with it.
But there is the surprise of the unicorn appearing, the rattling of a cup and Glas’ heartbeat thundering in his ears as it rests its sharp horn against his hand — and he panics. He pushes away from the table, abandoning the cup of tea and clutching the bag of supplies and presses himself into the corner where he can get the furthest away from the unicorn. “N-n-no thanks.” He says again, because what kind of thoughts might run through his parents' minds if he returned and was somewhat okay? “I’m fine. I-I’m okay.” He tries to urge, keeping his focus on the unicorn.
But the healing magic doesn’t work, just as Glas had imagined it wouldn’t — because they’d tried to rid the scar on his face, tried to fix the wrongs his parents saw in his mind, and nothing had worked. He just had to deal with it.
But there is the surprise of the unicorn appearing, the rattling of a cup and Glas’ heartbeat thundering in his ears as it rests its sharp horn against his hand — and he panics. He pushes away from the table, abandoning the cup of tea and clutching the bag of supplies and presses himself into the corner where he can get the furthest away from the unicorn. “N-n-no thanks.” He says again, because what kind of thoughts might run through his parents' minds if he returned and was somewhat okay? “I’m fine. I-I’m okay.” He tries to urge, keeping his focus on the unicorn.
a thousand voices dead at my feet
GLAS
