For every being on the planet who acts in a way that’s heartless or without empathy, that compassion seems to reside instead in Teddy, Weeping Dragon, he whose heart bleeds for the unfortunate. Amissa’s second-greatest achievement, a perfect being, an efficient being, a beast of terrible power, who would sooner extend a hand to be taken, than a fist, or a gun.
She laments no one trusts her anyway, and he looks at her with a knitted brow and shining eyes, blinking away yet more tears. He’s confused, at first, and then he remembers that not everyone has unwavering faith in the powers that Be. Gods were fallible; Man had figured that out long ago, and started killing them, replacing them with false idols they thought would never fail them.
And in the meantime, the gods’ hands never idled.
She speaks, and she speaks of dark, horrible things. She speaks of, what, to him, sounds like the inevitability of loss. And he knew, deep down, somewhere, that this war would have losses that affected him directly, but he didn’t want to believe it. Not that he didn’t weep for the civilians just as passionately, not that he didn’t lament over lives taken too soon, far too soon, for children who would never have their birth parents, for mothers and fathers who didn’t have enough left of their babies to mourn.
It’s different when it’s your family at stake.
“…I understand.” But his voice breaks, and a pathetic sob wracks his body, enveloping her in his arms. He understands, he knows, but his heart, poor, battered thing, doesn’t want to accept the possibility. Like a child, it demands, over and over, why, why, why, why. Why him? Why not somebody else?
It’s selfish. He knows it is. But when you’re irrational, and grieving someone who’s still alive, you tend to get a bit selfish.
The sensation this creature evokes within her is a strange one -- her darkness gag at the overwhelming empathy that dwells within him, shocked that one being could hold so much ... so much of what made this man themselves. They weren’t present in their finite world, in that perfected reality the kal’uluk’rai had birthed with devoted arms of creation.
She can only wonder why, but a hunch tells her that his kindness had found him felled before her rule. Those that shine the brightest burn away the fastest, after all.
Her brain prism crackles with energy, and for a moment, she sees red. Sayrrinth clings to him involuntarily, his vulnerability seeming to seep into her, accepted unwillingly.
" GOᗪS, YOᑌ ᑕOᑌᒪᗪ ᗷᕮ Tᕼᕮ ᗪᕮᗩTᕼ Oᖴ SOᗰᕮOᑎᕮ ᒪIKᕮ ᗰᕮ, TᕼᕮOᗪOᖇᕮ. " She feels embarrassed at this weakness -- doubled in the notion of not recognizing where it hails from. " ᗷᑌT I'ᗰ Sᑌᖇᕮ YOᑌ'ᖇᕮ ᗰOᖇᕮ IᑎTᕮᖇᕮSTᕮᗪ Iᑎ Tᕼᕮ ᗷᗩSTᗩᖇᗪ ᑌᑭ TOᑭ. "
Her claws lightly bury into his back, and in that, she chuckles; attempting to drive away, to once more give her small digits use, removing tears despite the fact they might continue to spill.
" Oᑎᕮ ᗯIᒪᒪ ᖴIᑎᗪ ᕼIS ᗯᗩY, TᕼᖇOᑌGᕼ Tᕼᕮ ᕮTᕮᖇᑎᗩᒪ ᗷᗩSTIOᑎ Oᖴ ᒪIᖴᕮ ᗩᑎᗪ ᗪᕮᗩTᕼ, I ᗩᗰ TO ᗷᕮ ᕼIS GᑌIᗪᗩᑎᑕᕮ ᗩᑎᗪ ᕼIS ᒪIGᕼT. TᕼᗩT ᗰᑌᑕᕼ I ᑕᗩᑎ ᑭᖇOᗰISᕮ YOᑌ.
TᕼᗩT ᕼᕮ ᗯIᒪᒪ ᑎᕮᐯᕮᖇ ᗷᕮ ᗩᒪOᑎᕮ. "
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
dededos
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
2087
