Osozo kept their eyes averted as Bastien stood, as he broke down, and as he was moved, ever so gently away from the podium. It only started the strange, painful hollowness inside them gnawing, desperately trying to claim more space for itself, to devour more. As the call came for stories they stood, awkwardly stiff, awkwardly still, and walked up, offering Deimos a tight lipped grimace as they turned to face those assembled.
Did they have a story? Maybe not, but they had something in them that wanted to get out, that sent them striding up to the podium, after the real family, like they had suffered for the place the same as them. ”I... did not know Rexanna very long, or... admittedly, very well.” Osozo’s voice is deadpan, their hair an icy blue, and their eyes pits of coal. ”I met her briefly, in passing, and... during parties. But even then, in those brief moments, she conducted herself with grace. With kindness. With poise. She was lovely, and she was loved, and I think... she was happy.”
”I will never get the chance to know her better.” They pause, words failing them for a moment, though they still couldn’t cal this feeling grief. ”But I am proud, and grateful, to have been able to call her sister, for even a short time.” Another pause, as Osozo tries to not let their paling eyes fall on anyone in particular, though they can’t help but glance towards Bastien, looking for something, before they step away. They bob, in a strange, half aborted bow, then stride quickly back to their seat, staring straight ahead. This is a decidedly uncomfortable feeling, and talking has not helped it, only shifted it.
OSOZO
The touch and gaze of those to whom we are less than nothing
