I lost who I was, forgot myself in the hands of someone who didn't know me
I'm slowly undoing their devastation, unfolding the corners
I'm slowly undoing their devastation, unfolding the corners
A huff escapes her, turning into a misted cloud that tickles against her cheeks in the cold. "A convenient excuse, true though it also is," she comments, turning her catlike gaze to him with amusement clear in her mismatched irises. Amusement that only grows and deepens as his stomach growls loudly, fortuitously providing her the exact answer for her retribution and reward. Her own laughter choruses alongside his, the scrape of her shovel underscoring their joviality. "You're in luck then, I have Ursur stew cooking inside. An unintended result of a hunt with Remi." She'd not taken much of the carcass, but considering how rare of a meat it is with how glorious of a beast they are, she'd jumped at the chance to try out a recipe with it.
Their good humors dwindle beneath her question, and for a moment she hesitates after flinging a shovelful to the side. He had not hesitated last time, had he? Why then does he do so now? Is he concerned for her state of mind after their last conversation, or is he reconsidering what the effects of the stories will do to her? Her arrogance demands that he tell her anyway, that she is capable of handling anything he could share. Is she not a Valkyrie? A warrior, a queen? Her anxieties clamor for her to take the out he provides, to back away and remain ignorant of the words of her former lovers. She still wakes up with wet cheeks and hands that seek bodies on either side of her bed that she will never find. Is that not proof enough that she will not handle news of them well?
"Part of me hopes they spoke of me," she says softly, voice strangled and vulnerable as she idly shovels another bit of snow off the path. "The larger part knows they didn't. Or that they defended their actions, and didn't deign to say anything more beyond preserving their own innocence." Her throat closes sharply, and she spends a few moments in silence as she toils away, trying to swallow past the blockage there. Only when she can breathe again does Hotaru consider her next words. "If I'm right...then don't tell me. That will be confirmation enough. I don't...I don't need to be told in detail from another person's side that I did not mean as much to them as they did to me." Her hands grip the wood of her shovel tight. Awaiting his answering silence, and knowing his absence of words will hurt only marginally less than if he were to speak. To say anything else. To tell her they did miss her, that maybe - for once in her life - Hotaru was wrong about her intense, dissecting appraisals of those she met. That her all-seeing gaze had somehow steered her wrong, and that they really had loved her more than she'd accounted for.
But so far, historically? She has never been wrong.
Their good humors dwindle beneath her question, and for a moment she hesitates after flinging a shovelful to the side. He had not hesitated last time, had he? Why then does he do so now? Is he concerned for her state of mind after their last conversation, or is he reconsidering what the effects of the stories will do to her? Her arrogance demands that he tell her anyway, that she is capable of handling anything he could share. Is she not a Valkyrie? A warrior, a queen? Her anxieties clamor for her to take the out he provides, to back away and remain ignorant of the words of her former lovers. She still wakes up with wet cheeks and hands that seek bodies on either side of her bed that she will never find. Is that not proof enough that she will not handle news of them well?
"Part of me hopes they spoke of me," she says softly, voice strangled and vulnerable as she idly shovels another bit of snow off the path. "The larger part knows they didn't. Or that they defended their actions, and didn't deign to say anything more beyond preserving their own innocence." Her throat closes sharply, and she spends a few moments in silence as she toils away, trying to swallow past the blockage there. Only when she can breathe again does Hotaru consider her next words. "If I'm right...then don't tell me. That will be confirmation enough. I don't...I don't need to be told in detail from another person's side that I did not mean as much to them as they did to me." Her hands grip the wood of her shovel tight. Awaiting his answering silence, and knowing his absence of words will hurt only marginally less than if he were to speak. To say anything else. To tell her they did miss her, that maybe - for once in her life - Hotaru was wrong about her intense, dissecting appraisals of those she met. That her all-seeing gaze had somehow steered her wrong, and that they really had loved her more than she'd accounted for.
But so far, historically? She has never been wrong.
and picking up the pieces that were chiseled away
HOTARU
