Harper
She is not the first to be surprised by his tolerance and acceptance. Many see Harper's genial nature and never think to question any deeper. Unfortunately, even his two lovers had never done so, and it feels good to say it out loud. Maybe this information should have been meant for a relationship deeper than the friendship he has with Maea, but life simply hadn't worked out that way, and he's so tired of hiding it.
Her head on his shoulder is unexpected in the same way she hadn't anticipated him to tighten his fingers around her own. Harper hesitates for all of a moment before tilting his head to the side to lay against her own, mindful of her horns.
"You can only keep doing what works. Only time will tell, right?" Harper sighs, and his breath rustles the moonlight of her hair by her temple. "It's not a good solution and I know that. But all you can do is ask your fellows, or Dygra. Maybe there's a way you can have a warning system? For yourself or even others, like a bracelet that lights up in colors." Harper may have endless ideas to help her, but he has to grapple with the understanding that for all he cares for her and knows her deeply in some ways, he has no idea what kind of life she leads. He doesn't even know where she lives, or what she does these days. How can he possibly impose his own advice upon her?
His thumb relaxes enough to smooth over her finely boned hand, watching the movement of colorful veins beneath the pale flesh as he considers how much he might tell her.
"It was against my will, and because of that, nobody would hold me accountable. I hated them for it. In my eyes, why should my age or consent have mattered?" Each word is a soft murmur that only her closeness allows her to hear, almost intimate with the soft rumble of his undertone. "But then I had Jude. And I realized I could never have blamed him for doing what he had to to survive. That I would never judge the blood on his hands." Harper pulls their joined hands to rest on his thigh, and when he half-closes his eyes, the haze of Maea's hair makes the overgrown road before them seem sunlit and vintage. Safe.
"I've learned that we can have whatever morals we like, but when we're put in life-threatening situations we do anything we can to live. It doesn't mean our morals are wrong or that what we did to survive infringes upon them." Harper shrugs his empty shoulder, knowing she'll feel the way it ripples through them without being able to see it. "What would paying for it now achieve? The only person who could give you atonement is the person you bit. Anything else would be performative, I think." The lash upon the back, just as he'd said earlier. The conversation is so convoluted that he doesn't feel he has room to expand upon the deaths he'd orchestrated willfully, or all that his own hesitation had cost him. So instead, he simply answers her last question.
"From someone else? Intentional, planned murder with no understandable reason for it like revenge. Or murder of a true innocent." It seems so extreme, but Harper knows that the grey area before that line...well, he would forgive it. "I've seen and done too much to not at least listen to the reasoning for anything else."
Her head on his shoulder is unexpected in the same way she hadn't anticipated him to tighten his fingers around her own. Harper hesitates for all of a moment before tilting his head to the side to lay against her own, mindful of her horns.
"You can only keep doing what works. Only time will tell, right?" Harper sighs, and his breath rustles the moonlight of her hair by her temple. "It's not a good solution and I know that. But all you can do is ask your fellows, or Dygra. Maybe there's a way you can have a warning system? For yourself or even others, like a bracelet that lights up in colors." Harper may have endless ideas to help her, but he has to grapple with the understanding that for all he cares for her and knows her deeply in some ways, he has no idea what kind of life she leads. He doesn't even know where she lives, or what she does these days. How can he possibly impose his own advice upon her?
His thumb relaxes enough to smooth over her finely boned hand, watching the movement of colorful veins beneath the pale flesh as he considers how much he might tell her.
"It was against my will, and because of that, nobody would hold me accountable. I hated them for it. In my eyes, why should my age or consent have mattered?" Each word is a soft murmur that only her closeness allows her to hear, almost intimate with the soft rumble of his undertone. "But then I had Jude. And I realized I could never have blamed him for doing what he had to to survive. That I would never judge the blood on his hands." Harper pulls their joined hands to rest on his thigh, and when he half-closes his eyes, the haze of Maea's hair makes the overgrown road before them seem sunlit and vintage. Safe.
"I've learned that we can have whatever morals we like, but when we're put in life-threatening situations we do anything we can to live. It doesn't mean our morals are wrong or that what we did to survive infringes upon them." Harper shrugs his empty shoulder, knowing she'll feel the way it ripples through them without being able to see it. "What would paying for it now achieve? The only person who could give you atonement is the person you bit. Anything else would be performative, I think." The lash upon the back, just as he'd said earlier. The conversation is so convoluted that he doesn't feel he has room to expand upon the deaths he'd orchestrated willfully, or all that his own hesitation had cost him. So instead, he simply answers her last question.
"From someone else? Intentional, planned murder with no understandable reason for it like revenge. Or murder of a true innocent." It seems so extreme, but Harper knows that the grey area before that line...well, he would forgive it. "I've seen and done too much to not at least listen to the reasoning for anything else."
I cut my teeth on second-hand sentiments
you can't trust a thing I say
you can't trust a thing I say
