a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
“Huh.” Glas replies swiftly, without a stutter, perhaps the surprise crossing his face replaces it as he glances up toward Hester with a blonde brow raised in a silent question. Almost wondering how long ago it had been, if he should continue making the lute, if it meant anything at all anymore. Oh well, at least his offer to make her something was accepted, already wondering about grabbing his notebook once the table is finished to start on something.
But then he’s explaining that his family died, his mother and father perishing in the attack on the palace, avoiding her gaze and avoiding even the possibility of looking at her just to avoid all the emotions that could cross her face, if only to preserve his own mask of being relatively put together. So he tightens the screws, pulls on the leg, nods slightly as she offers her condolences, and he sits back on his heels briefly to put the screw driver down.
Suddenly, her arms are around him, pulling him in close and tight, and Glas flinches at first – unsure what to make of it, the last time he’d received a hug had been from his mother, the night before they’d died. He’s frozen, arms hovering in the air, trying to pull himself together enough to not break down in her arms. He fails it, however, eventually moving his arms to wrap around her too and bury his face into her shoulder. “H-Home and… The work- workshop...” He says, though it’s muffled by clothing and the pressure of the hug. He’d cleaned up the house the best he could, burned the remains of his family all alone, and tried to put some semblance of his life back together.
Gods, it was lonely though.
But then he’s explaining that his family died, his mother and father perishing in the attack on the palace, avoiding her gaze and avoiding even the possibility of looking at her just to avoid all the emotions that could cross her face, if only to preserve his own mask of being relatively put together. So he tightens the screws, pulls on the leg, nods slightly as she offers her condolences, and he sits back on his heels briefly to put the screw driver down.
Suddenly, her arms are around him, pulling him in close and tight, and Glas flinches at first – unsure what to make of it, the last time he’d received a hug had been from his mother, the night before they’d died. He’s frozen, arms hovering in the air, trying to pull himself together enough to not break down in her arms. He fails it, however, eventually moving his arms to wrap around her too and bury his face into her shoulder. “H-Home and… The work- workshop...” He says, though it’s muffled by clothing and the pressure of the hug. He’d cleaned up the house the best he could, burned the remains of his family all alone, and tried to put some semblance of his life back together.
Gods, it was lonely though.
a thousand voices dead at my feet
GLAS
