I can give you freedom from your guilt with a flick of my wrist
The woman can resist all she likes, object and protest, but it doesn’t matter in the end. It never would have. The magic she has is short-lived and too weak to repair that which is injured. Broken. She was never capable of being fixed, well before this encounter ever happened.
It’s a bitter pill to swallow, that her enemy is the one at her side in her final moments, but Nephele cannot hold too much hatred for her beyond that of her prejudice. She had given Nephele the ending she desired after all, hadn’t she? For that mercy, Nephele can extend her own begrudging kindness.
Lifting a hand, she lays it over the one still putting useless pressure on her chest. “Nephele.” Golden eyes try hard to focus on the other woman, but it’s becoming hard to do so. She can’t say more than her first name, and can only hope the Ascended will respond in kind. “I…will ask Mort to forgive you.” It’s the last kindness she can offer, and perhaps the most profound. A gesture given only to another, former follower of Ludo. A symbol to stand for the woman Maea used to be before her divine fall. Finally her golden eyes slide away from Maea to stare up into the roiling grey of the sky.
Think you can beat me home before the rain? Nephele hears her sister’s voice chime for the first time in years, an age-old challenge presented that Nephele has never once backed down from, and the dying woman’s bloody lips turn up in the first genuine smile she’s had since the last time that voice was heard. “I’m coming Eri.” It’s barely a whisper, but as she slowly exhales for the last time, there is a look of utter rapturous joy on her face. The hand on Maea’s goes slack. Somewhere in the distance, harmonized laughter rings, reunited at last.
It’s a bitter pill to swallow, that her enemy is the one at her side in her final moments, but Nephele cannot hold too much hatred for her beyond that of her prejudice. She had given Nephele the ending she desired after all, hadn’t she? For that mercy, Nephele can extend her own begrudging kindness.
Lifting a hand, she lays it over the one still putting useless pressure on her chest. “Nephele.” Golden eyes try hard to focus on the other woman, but it’s becoming hard to do so. She can’t say more than her first name, and can only hope the Ascended will respond in kind. “I…will ask Mort to forgive you.” It’s the last kindness she can offer, and perhaps the most profound. A gesture given only to another, former follower of Ludo. A symbol to stand for the woman Maea used to be before her divine fall. Finally her golden eyes slide away from Maea to stare up into the roiling grey of the sky.
Think you can beat me home before the rain? Nephele hears her sister’s voice chime for the first time in years, an age-old challenge presented that Nephele has never once backed down from, and the dying woman’s bloody lips turn up in the first genuine smile she’s had since the last time that voice was heard. “I’m coming Eri.” It’s barely a whisper, but as she slowly exhales for the last time, there is a look of utter rapturous joy on her face. The hand on Maea’s goes slack. Somewhere in the distance, harmonized laughter rings, reunited at last.
I can give you death with the look upon my face
