Hotaru
He is not the only one struggling. In that, neither of them is alone, and that is partially what is keeping them both going. The load shared between shoulders, a night otherwise guaranteed to be lonely now eased even with all the history between them. Perhaps all the more eased because of it in some ways, and made more difficult in others. Her eyes dip away from his at his confusion, and she knows she could let the topic pass by if she desired, with all else mingling about as the topic wanders. All the same he deserves an answer even if to keep her silence would be easier.
“The day she left her teacher, Atlas and I found her in the market. We spent the afternoon together, and I was the one who dropped her off that day.” She had been gone before the girl had ever crossed the threshold, sworn to secrecy in childish game. It had been easy to love her, as Ru loves every child, when not faced with the reality of who the girl was at the time.
That love is hard to find now, quailing beneath the anger and hurt that swells within her at notions of manipulation. The thing is, Hotaru knows how akin she is to Safrin, just as she’d been to the Moon Goddess. It was why they would always be battling for room in Sunjata’s heart. And Hotaru could not compete with a Goddess. But even she can smell the deceit here, and though she is reluctant to speak ill of the deity for a large variety of reasons, chief among them is the refusal to make this harder on the Flood. To force her own opinion when he is already torn between loyalties.
His voice in her mind has her shuddering, bile rising in her throat at the imagery, because damn it all she can see it. Because at the end of the day she loves Nate, she will never stop loving him, nor Wessex or Kiada. But Hotaru has seen what usurpers like The Voice can do, and whether it is a product of her past trauma turning her biased or a clarity of vision from witnessing such depraved acts, Hotaru cannot trust her. All the same she can’t trust Safrin either, not when this information so closely rides the heels of how she’s given Sunjata a daughter with half the Goddess’ blood, and asked him to raise her with Nate. A mother would never court danger so closely.
“I -” the pillow is plucked from between them, and the arm beneath her head curls as she is pulled against the radiating warmth of Sunjata’s body. Hotaru shudders all over, every nerve alight with fire, like she had been sleeping miles beneath snow and ice and only now is remember the touch of the sun. She has been cold for so very, very long, and every cell rejoices to be warmed by his touch. It shocks all words off her tongue, face pressing into the softness of skin and the knotted edges of scars by the crook of his neck. Arms rise to cradle him back in return, holding on for dear life. “I’ve seen so many die at the hands of a false God. I don’t know who to trust. They could both so easily be lying, I don’t…” despair chokes her, and it’s not even her own. Because she wishes with a desperation that aches in her bones to have an answer for him. To somehow ease this burden off his shoulders. Torn between the love of a parent and that of a husband. Unless…
“But even if he did, Jata, he couldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t, because she has protected all children for the duration of the war.” Kamaria would be shepherded away to her mother’s side. And perhaps Sunjata could use that in some way to help Kamaria, to make her break away some from Safrin’s whispered words. Ru can only do so much to help, but the press of her fingers into his skin along his spine tell how badly she wishes to do more.
“The day she left her teacher, Atlas and I found her in the market. We spent the afternoon together, and I was the one who dropped her off that day.” She had been gone before the girl had ever crossed the threshold, sworn to secrecy in childish game. It had been easy to love her, as Ru loves every child, when not faced with the reality of who the girl was at the time.
That love is hard to find now, quailing beneath the anger and hurt that swells within her at notions of manipulation. The thing is, Hotaru knows how akin she is to Safrin, just as she’d been to the Moon Goddess. It was why they would always be battling for room in Sunjata’s heart. And Hotaru could not compete with a Goddess. But even she can smell the deceit here, and though she is reluctant to speak ill of the deity for a large variety of reasons, chief among them is the refusal to make this harder on the Flood. To force her own opinion when he is already torn between loyalties.
His voice in her mind has her shuddering, bile rising in her throat at the imagery, because damn it all she can see it. Because at the end of the day she loves Nate, she will never stop loving him, nor Wessex or Kiada. But Hotaru has seen what usurpers like The Voice can do, and whether it is a product of her past trauma turning her biased or a clarity of vision from witnessing such depraved acts, Hotaru cannot trust her. All the same she can’t trust Safrin either, not when this information so closely rides the heels of how she’s given Sunjata a daughter with half the Goddess’ blood, and asked him to raise her with Nate. A mother would never court danger so closely.
“I -” the pillow is plucked from between them, and the arm beneath her head curls as she is pulled against the radiating warmth of Sunjata’s body. Hotaru shudders all over, every nerve alight with fire, like she had been sleeping miles beneath snow and ice and only now is remember the touch of the sun. She has been cold for so very, very long, and every cell rejoices to be warmed by his touch. It shocks all words off her tongue, face pressing into the softness of skin and the knotted edges of scars by the crook of his neck. Arms rise to cradle him back in return, holding on for dear life. “I’ve seen so many die at the hands of a false God. I don’t know who to trust. They could both so easily be lying, I don’t…” despair chokes her, and it’s not even her own. Because she wishes with a desperation that aches in her bones to have an answer for him. To somehow ease this burden off his shoulders. Torn between the love of a parent and that of a husband. Unless…
“But even if he did, Jata, he couldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t, because she has protected all children for the duration of the war.” Kamaria would be shepherded away to her mother’s side. And perhaps Sunjata could use that in some way to help Kamaria, to make her break away some from Safrin’s whispered words. Ru can only do so much to help, but the press of her fingers into his skin along his spine tell how badly she wishes to do more.
But I am just a broken machine
And I do things that I don't really mean
And I do things that I don't really mean
