08-23-2020, 10:04 PM
(This post was last modified: 09-26-2020, 09:13 PM by Thalia.
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Hurt fractured her expression for the delicacy with which he very carefully set her aside. The venom of a bite would have been a less painful wound than the kindness he offered instead. Where Noctua pressed her hands, Nimeda folded them at her waist, hugging herself tightly. She wanted to cup the cheeks that turned so gravely away; to catch the shame pouring from his expression, and soothe it from him. But Nimeda never asked for more than could be given, and she didn’t ask it now.
He called her heart good, but it was the wrong word. Her heart was as wide as the lake she had shown the Vánagandr, and as unfathomably deep; buoyant with compassion that often grieved her as much as it brought her keen joy. But it was not good.
The rejection hurt, no matter how softly spoken, for it was her very nature he spurned. Though her wide eyes briefly turned back to the trees, where beyond lay the water and memories she had shared, it had been a long time since she had been so selfless as the soul who had once called it home. She did not speak for a time. If she thought he truly did not care, she could endure it with grace, but the bars he imposed were ones of self-denial. As he refused to swim. As he refused to show her his city. It was the reclamation of no one.
She thought of Jon’s absence and Calvin’s silence, then. Thought too of the way she continued to fail Mara, though she tried desperately to hold on to the impetus to save the only friend she had. Her eyes pressed closed. The emotion capsized like a storm in her chest.
She forgave; of course she did. And she accepted, as she always wished to be accepted in turn.
But oh it hurt more than it should. She contained herself quietly. “We do not get to choose who we come to love. But neither do we get to choose those who love us,” she told him soberly. If ever she had sounded ancient, it was then. “You never asked me why I think we dream, Noctua.” Her expression flickered, the duty of Need at war with the desire for self-preservation. She seemed on the verge of saying more, but the emotion squeezed too tight, and the epiphany faded. The sadness washed in, and she was gone.
He called her heart good, but it was the wrong word. Her heart was as wide as the lake she had shown the Vánagandr, and as unfathomably deep; buoyant with compassion that often grieved her as much as it brought her keen joy. But it was not good.
The rejection hurt, no matter how softly spoken, for it was her very nature he spurned. Though her wide eyes briefly turned back to the trees, where beyond lay the water and memories she had shared, it had been a long time since she had been so selfless as the soul who had once called it home. She did not speak for a time. If she thought he truly did not care, she could endure it with grace, but the bars he imposed were ones of self-denial. As he refused to swim. As he refused to show her his city. It was the reclamation of no one.
She thought of Jon’s absence and Calvin’s silence, then. Thought too of the way she continued to fail Mara, though she tried desperately to hold on to the impetus to save the only friend she had. Her eyes pressed closed. The emotion capsized like a storm in her chest.
She forgave; of course she did. And she accepted, as she always wished to be accepted in turn.
But oh it hurt more than it should. She contained herself quietly. “We do not get to choose who we come to love. But neither do we get to choose those who love us,” she told him soberly. If ever she had sounded ancient, it was then. “You never asked me why I think we dream, Noctua.” Her expression flickered, the duty of Need at war with the desire for self-preservation. She seemed on the verge of saying more, but the emotion squeezed too tight, and the epiphany faded. The sadness washed in, and she was gone.
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