tell me Atlas what is heavier?
the world or its peoples hearts?
the world or its peoples hearts?
It is as if they're seeing one another through glass wiped free of condensation. They are still the same people - same silhouettes, shapes and sizes. But the details...those are clear at last, revealed unexpectedly. Whatever she thinks of him in this moment he is not privy to. Isn't sure he wants to be. In return, Harper looks into her milky gaze and knows with unparalleled certainty that while she hadn't expected this sort of a reaction, it's one she undoubtedly needed.
Her voice is soft, susurrous, the wind that is absent here in this drenched half-lit space between. Between worlds, sides of war, fealties and histories. They are in this limbo together, and only her voice seems to matter.
"You came back for love; an emotion, an idea of a person at best. When you made your choice, it was never to fulfill a purpose. And now, with that singular desire extinguished against your will, you have none." Just as he had suffered the same since being deposited in Caido. Until Safrin had deigned to give him direction, he had lived only by the days he could help. Heal. Brighten someone's day. Harper had crafted the most minuscule and meaningless of purposes to keep from ending it all. Maea's plight is not unfamiliar to him. "So. Why not construct your own purpose? With intent, and consideration. Because you know now it was not the actions that felt good; replicating them would be meaningless." Harper doesn't deposit his thoughts and introspections right into her lap. She must work to make her own conclusions if she wants them. Tilting his chin slightly towards his chest, Harper pins her with blue eyes made dark with some bloodied history. "Otherwise you're no better than dead anyway. And the choice you made that you see as a mistake is all the more meaningless and pitiful as a result." The cruelty of the words contrasts with the easy, laconic delivery of them, irises like shattered sapphires in the fading light.
Her voice is soft, susurrous, the wind that is absent here in this drenched half-lit space between. Between worlds, sides of war, fealties and histories. They are in this limbo together, and only her voice seems to matter.
"You came back for love; an emotion, an idea of a person at best. When you made your choice, it was never to fulfill a purpose. And now, with that singular desire extinguished against your will, you have none." Just as he had suffered the same since being deposited in Caido. Until Safrin had deigned to give him direction, he had lived only by the days he could help. Heal. Brighten someone's day. Harper had crafted the most minuscule and meaningless of purposes to keep from ending it all. Maea's plight is not unfamiliar to him. "So. Why not construct your own purpose? With intent, and consideration. Because you know now it was not the actions that felt good; replicating them would be meaningless." Harper doesn't deposit his thoughts and introspections right into her lap. She must work to make her own conclusions if she wants them. Tilting his chin slightly towards his chest, Harper pins her with blue eyes made dark with some bloodied history. "Otherwise you're no better than dead anyway. And the choice you made that you see as a mistake is all the more meaningless and pitiful as a result." The cruelty of the words contrasts with the easy, laconic delivery of them, irises like shattered sapphires in the fading light.
Harper
