sayén does not speak right away. she rarely does, listening is always her first response. her fingers never stop their slow, soothing path along his arm, tracing the fabric of his sleeve as if mapping a constellation only she can see. her cheek remains pressed to his chest for a long moment, rising and falling with each breath puck darlington takes.
prince orpheus... the name curls through her mind like old starlight, distant and cold. should be unknown but feels familiar, as though the knowledge and weight of history of those species that habit the silver void stayed with her body even when her mind could no longer remember. she has been able to gather some information as an adult and put pieces together here and there, but so much of it still feels unknown.
she does not doubt that puck’s gratitude is real. she would never dismiss his feelings, would never doubt those feelings are real and big, for she knows her wife well and knows she feels everything with immense intensity. but truthfully.... sayén cannot bring herself to feel the same reverence.
githyanki.... the word alone tastes of something metallic and old, like blood dried on the edge of a silver blade. she has no memories of the astral sea’s drifting colonies, yet the feeling has stayed within her. the phantom of a terror that has no face. the suspicion, grown over decades, that whatever stole her from her birthplace may have worn the same sharp features and spoke in the same harsh syllables as the prince in question.
she will not speak ill of the dead — not when puck carries guilt like a wound that won’t close. this is not about her. not now, not today. but truth is, she cannot give orpheus so much credit.
finally, the priestess shifts, tilting her head just enough to look up at him. her dark eyes, pools of black with no whites to soften them, search his face with unrestrained gentleness. she sees the guilt still clinging to puck’s features, the way his shoulders brace against a weight that was never his to carry. her heart aches. it is such a heavy thing. she wishes she could lift it from him, just for a moment, just long enough for him to breathe.
“you feel guilty,” her voice a soft murmur against his collarbone. “because you have a pure heart. i know this about you, i have always known this.”
long pale rose hair cascades from her shoulders down and around her body as she moves to reach puck’s face. the backs of her fingers brush along his cheek. soft and slow, the way one might pet the velvet of a fawn’s ear. her touch always delicate, grounding, protective. so very protective.
“but i do not believe prince orpheus choice was entirely selfless. i do not believe it was only for you.” her tone does not sharpen, even in skepticism it remains tender and curious. “githyanki and illithid have been at war for so, so long. it did not need to be you. it only needed to be someone, and prince orpheus made the choice that would benefit his people the most.”
she pauses, letting the words rest. then, as if to soften any sting, she strokes his cheek again and adds, “your twin is so very clever. you would do well to trust their judgment on this one.” before he can protest or sink deeper into his thoughts, sayén leans forward and presses a long, adoring kiss to his forehead. her lips linger there, warm and reverent, as if she could press all her love directly into his skin, through bone, into the tender places where guilt has made a home.
“i know it feels very heavy in your heart right now, but this was not all your fault. you were not any of the ones pulling strings, so free yourself of that guilt.”
