Harper
Harper listens with ears that have always been empathetic, with a heart that has always been kind. One that has never shied away from darkness and death. "Dygra's morals don't have to be your own. Is there a way to keep yourself sated enough to not court that kind of madness?" Perhaps it would be as slippery a slope as forgetting a meal and finding yourself starving, but Harper doesn't know if her bloodlust is any more or less fickle than that. It would potentially be an eternal source of mitigation for her though, and is that any better?
He's not expecting a confession, but Harper admittedly...doesn't react much. In fact he curls his fingers around hers with renewed strength, giving space to her own horror even if he cannot share in it. "I know biting felt different to Ascended, but it's no more or less a breaking of consent than punching someone, or injuring them with magic," he points out quietly. Harper's eyes slide away - though hers had long since left his - and he tilts his head back against the sun-warmed wood behind them to stare up into the sky.
"I killed two hundred and seventy four people between the ages of nine and fourteen." And while he'd fought with everything he had, resisted at every turn - and eventually got away, when he had never heard of any other survivors - he will always blame himself for not doing more. "And I killed five more before I came to Caido; even after I swore I'd always find a way to neutralize a threat without death." There is nobody to blame but himself for those five, even if he could somehow justify the former deaths. "You can be horrified at yourself if that's what you feel. And it can keep you on the straight and narrow from here on out, to fear yourself." And maybe it would be adequate ammunition to keep her from ever succumbing to sating her bloodlust with a person instead of an animal. "But eventually, lashing your own back only makes you scarred and tired. Makes you not trust yourself. And you can do just as much damage by hesitating." Damage that someone else may suffer instead of herself. Harper would know; it's how he lost the love of his life.
He doesn't want that for Maea. If she feels her hands are bloodied and unworthy of being held, then his are poison, and all he can do is try to warn her of the dangers of doubting herself and holding herself up as unforgivable. While he has the chance - before he scares her away for good.
He's not expecting a confession, but Harper admittedly...doesn't react much. In fact he curls his fingers around hers with renewed strength, giving space to her own horror even if he cannot share in it. "I know biting felt different to Ascended, but it's no more or less a breaking of consent than punching someone, or injuring them with magic," he points out quietly. Harper's eyes slide away - though hers had long since left his - and he tilts his head back against the sun-warmed wood behind them to stare up into the sky.
"I killed two hundred and seventy four people between the ages of nine and fourteen." And while he'd fought with everything he had, resisted at every turn - and eventually got away, when he had never heard of any other survivors - he will always blame himself for not doing more. "And I killed five more before I came to Caido; even after I swore I'd always find a way to neutralize a threat without death." There is nobody to blame but himself for those five, even if he could somehow justify the former deaths. "You can be horrified at yourself if that's what you feel. And it can keep you on the straight and narrow from here on out, to fear yourself." And maybe it would be adequate ammunition to keep her from ever succumbing to sating her bloodlust with a person instead of an animal. "But eventually, lashing your own back only makes you scarred and tired. Makes you not trust yourself. And you can do just as much damage by hesitating." Damage that someone else may suffer instead of herself. Harper would know; it's how he lost the love of his life.
He doesn't want that for Maea. If she feels her hands are bloodied and unworthy of being held, then his are poison, and all he can do is try to warn her of the dangers of doubting herself and holding herself up as unforgivable. While he has the chance - before he scares her away for good.
I cut my teeth on second-hand sentiments
you can't trust a thing I say
you can't trust a thing I say
