A thousand little lies bubble up at the back of her throat ----
so much she could say, could pretend to atone for ( pretend,
or not. all that she is is worthy of being atoned for. under the
eyes of the Maker, she is abomination and exalted both; mage
and savior, existing together. ) but none of them make it past
the suddenly clenched teeth. It's just another reason to change
the subject, to inverse it ---- go back to Cole, focus in on him,
look at him so as to not forget, like he asked, and it's all a matter
of taking what sloshes around in her stomach and pushing it
down; one more thing for her to ignore.
She wants to touch him ---- like family does, a hand on the
shoulder, an acknowledgement ---- but before her fingers
can reach out she pulls them back again, settles at the chain
around her throat. Trevelyan tugs the necklace against her
skin like a shaky afterthought, a never you mind me.
Never you mind me, her head, turning, always turning ----
she told Josephine that the Templars didn't bother her, them,
and she always slid from their view whenever she could,
mage-slippers scuffing against the floor. Never you mind me.
"Never," And she doesn't mean it facetiously. To be forgotten
is an awful thing ---- never seen, never heard, never known.
Putting it onto someone else, imposing it... there was something
heinous about the act of forgetting. Of not seeing. She wouldn't,
couldn't do that. "I promise ---- I promise that I won't ever
forget. Not unless... you make me."
That ---- making someone forget ---- that, at least, Trevelyan
could understand. The desire to want to be unremembered;
like a childhood memory, faded and distant and then suddenly
gone. Into the ether like smoke to the sky. As painful as it was
to be forgotten, sometimes it was easier for yourself, or someone
else. To be a memory neither painful or happy. To be a nothing,
instead.
The chain falls. Her hands go back to where she wants them to
be. Her side. Uncertain, but ready. Tingling defensively as though
she expects ---- always expects ---- to be cleaved in two. ( to
exist in twos ---- herald, inquisitor. mage, human. exalt, heretic. )
"It's... nothing. Everyone has something they need to make up
for, don't they? It's ---- a part of being human."
And maybe that doesn't mean much, humanity, but it's a truth that
doesn't have to exist solely in this world. Mistakes transcend more
than just the physical, or so she thinks. They were universal, all-
encompassing, and... brutal. Mistakes were brutal. The headsman's
axe. Something for her to swallow, and wait for. But nothing ever came.
