EVELYN
With a quiet reverence, she listened to him as he spoke, letting the man's colourful words paint a picture of how the queen had been in life now that final death had taken her. Final death, she wondered idly, if that was the correct term for when an Ascended's final spark of light was blinked out of existence. She had thought the concept of it nearly impossible, but then, she was also still very prone to bursting into flames from sunlight, so she was well aware that they were not impervious to harm and death as they may come across.
It was a topic she supposed she would discuss further with her sister, and perhaps the Wraith.
Evelyn notes, that though it is subtle, the man speaks of his fallen queen in the present tense a lot, but eventually turns into past tense. She wonders at it, for when her family had perished, when she and her sister had gone to the Voice's shrine to look for another way to survive, she had immediately known that her parents and other siblings were gone, that they were no more. It was nothing more than a curious observation of how others might grieve - a quiet realisation that perhaps she was doing it wrong, or at least, differently.
"You should keep painting her." Angelic tones offered. "Keep painting her, so that one day you might get closer and closer still to displaying her radiance. You'll never capture it - you can only hope to show it to the world. So we know her, as you did." It was a tall order, but the girl didn't know what else to say. If he were a younger sibling, she might know what worlds of consolation she should say, but in this, she was in utterly unknown territory.
It was a topic she supposed she would discuss further with her sister, and perhaps the Wraith.
Evelyn notes, that though it is subtle, the man speaks of his fallen queen in the present tense a lot, but eventually turns into past tense. She wonders at it, for when her family had perished, when she and her sister had gone to the Voice's shrine to look for another way to survive, she had immediately known that her parents and other siblings were gone, that they were no more. It was nothing more than a curious observation of how others might grieve - a quiet realisation that perhaps she was doing it wrong, or at least, differently.
"You should keep painting her." Angelic tones offered. "Keep painting her, so that one day you might get closer and closer still to displaying her radiance. You'll never capture it - you can only hope to show it to the world. So we know her, as you did." It was a tall order, but the girl didn't know what else to say. If he were a younger sibling, she might know what worlds of consolation she should say, but in this, she was in utterly unknown territory.
innocence
is but an illusion
is but an illusion
