05-17-2020, 12:48 AM
Thalia didn’t view it as a gift, bad or otherwise. For most of her life it had been nothing but a compulsion, one eventually contained to a well-worn ritual -- for the most part. She acclimatised to the surface of that current for years, and until recently she’d never delved deeper, let alone searched for meaning. But she understood in that moment that he saw through the same prescient eyes; that they were not just talking about the journey to strange worlds upon the reach for sleep anymore. He knew what she suspected but still would not admit about those drawings.
She did not stop him from plucking the box from her open palm. Nothing possessive marked even her gaze on its familiar shape, let alone the curl of her fingers around its edges. Had he claimed it for his own there and then, she would not have protested its loss, no matter the efforts it had taken to uncover. But when she watched it tumble instead to the ground a frown pinched her expression, even as his words made her flinch.
When she looked up his eyes were shielded; closed entirely in fact, like he could not bear to look upon her. It hurt a little, not that she could precisely articulate why. What she had done to earn it she was not sure, but she wondered if perhaps he did not so easily untangle her flesh-and-blood form from whatever presented in the dreamscape he spoke of. Perhaps he was angry for reasons she could not predict. Either way she did not know what he wanted from her.
“Well I’m not cutting my hand off,” she murmured, that comment meant entirely to herself as she picked at the edges of the bandage. Was he really not even going to look at her? She didn’t doubt him. A sense of anxiety had shadowed since the cottage. Scrapes and bruises marked her skin that did not exist before sleep. She squeezed her own eyes tight then, but only for a moment, trying not to see the face that had watched her leave the station at Viljandi. She suppressed the shiver. The box and the pinecone were in her possession now. The only path left was forward, come what may of the consequences.
“Are you angry because you think I stole it?" she asked carefully. "Because I don’t feel particularly guilty about that whatever the state of my soul, and I can’t exactly put it back now anyway.” Her own gaze sought escape then, settling on the chain link fence and the vines swarming it. Nobody will help us except ourselves. Those words had stuck, but Thalia couldn’t say who had said them to her. Only that they had urged her out the door the afternoon she had left Moscow. She pressed on like perhaps an explanation would soften his countenance, not pausing to wonder why it mattered to her. “I wanted to know if it was real, or if I’m just crazy, and I knew where it was because I’d drawn it, like some strange treasure map stuck on the inside of my head.” The earnestness of her honesty slowed a little, the last part quieter. “And since I needed to know if the rest was real it seemed a safe place to start at the time.” He’d know what she meant by rest, for ironically he was walking proof himself of the truth in her pages. Her heart began to speed a little again at the prospect, still finding little comfort in Nox’s assertion that the world was always ending and someone would always save it. She was afraid of the warning imparted, but she was more afraid of that. Her hand flexed with the memory, but she carefully prised herself away from the threat of drowning in it.
“I have friends who’ll help me if I’ve upset someone, and now that you've told me I’m sure you don’t have to worry for me. I’m not even Catholic.” Her lips quirked up pleasantly like maybe he was the one requiring the comfort from the tension in him, though her own affirmation was a little more confident sounding than she truly felt. But if Nox could not answer, then she had the contact for his friend Sage. She tried not to think of how far she was from home.
She did not stop him from plucking the box from her open palm. Nothing possessive marked even her gaze on its familiar shape, let alone the curl of her fingers around its edges. Had he claimed it for his own there and then, she would not have protested its loss, no matter the efforts it had taken to uncover. But when she watched it tumble instead to the ground a frown pinched her expression, even as his words made her flinch.
When she looked up his eyes were shielded; closed entirely in fact, like he could not bear to look upon her. It hurt a little, not that she could precisely articulate why. What she had done to earn it she was not sure, but she wondered if perhaps he did not so easily untangle her flesh-and-blood form from whatever presented in the dreamscape he spoke of. Perhaps he was angry for reasons she could not predict. Either way she did not know what he wanted from her.
“Well I’m not cutting my hand off,” she murmured, that comment meant entirely to herself as she picked at the edges of the bandage. Was he really not even going to look at her? She didn’t doubt him. A sense of anxiety had shadowed since the cottage. Scrapes and bruises marked her skin that did not exist before sleep. She squeezed her own eyes tight then, but only for a moment, trying not to see the face that had watched her leave the station at Viljandi. She suppressed the shiver. The box and the pinecone were in her possession now. The only path left was forward, come what may of the consequences.
“Are you angry because you think I stole it?" she asked carefully. "Because I don’t feel particularly guilty about that whatever the state of my soul, and I can’t exactly put it back now anyway.” Her own gaze sought escape then, settling on the chain link fence and the vines swarming it. Nobody will help us except ourselves. Those words had stuck, but Thalia couldn’t say who had said them to her. Only that they had urged her out the door the afternoon she had left Moscow. She pressed on like perhaps an explanation would soften his countenance, not pausing to wonder why it mattered to her. “I wanted to know if it was real, or if I’m just crazy, and I knew where it was because I’d drawn it, like some strange treasure map stuck on the inside of my head.” The earnestness of her honesty slowed a little, the last part quieter. “And since I needed to know if the rest was real it seemed a safe place to start at the time.” He’d know what she meant by rest, for ironically he was walking proof himself of the truth in her pages. Her heart began to speed a little again at the prospect, still finding little comfort in Nox’s assertion that the world was always ending and someone would always save it. She was afraid of the warning imparted, but she was more afraid of that. Her hand flexed with the memory, but she carefully prised herself away from the threat of drowning in it.
“I have friends who’ll help me if I’ve upset someone, and now that you've told me I’m sure you don’t have to worry for me. I’m not even Catholic.” Her lips quirked up pleasantly like maybe he was the one requiring the comfort from the tension in him, though her own affirmation was a little more confident sounding than she truly felt. But if Nox could not answer, then she had the contact for his friend Sage. She tried not to think of how far she was from home.