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@demuradonna replied to your post: don't mind her, she's just tracing little patterns...
“ oh…nothing much. ” the smile on her lips is nothing short of playful, naturally. “ why, i’m not distracting you, am i? ”
Teasing. She is teasing him. “No. Not really.” Yes, very much so. But he can’t let her think that.
demuradonna replied to your post: “maybe i’m getting a little carried away.”
there’s no such thing as TOO MUCH fun.
“touche. i should probably get back to work, though.”
@demuradonna // here.
the sight of hilda’s gaze fixed firmly on the ground rather than on you hurts-- lovely, rosy eyes are puffy and red; she’s clearly been crying... likely because of you. you swallow thickly at the realization, and the cowardly ( no, you refuse to call it that, it’s kept you alive all these years ) part of your brain tells you that maybe it’d be best to cut your losses and leave, let her be. it’s not as though she’s going to forgive you, even after you try and sort things out. it’d hurt less to just let it go and live with the fact that you’re meant to be alone. an outsider, as always.
but hilda valentine goneril deserves better. she might be unwilling to put in effort for fear of disappointing people’s expectations, but she is worth your effort... even if she hates you now for pulling back on instinct, as though her touch burned you. she deserves to at least tell you so herself, and have the final say.
... it was nice while it lasted, having a friend.
“no, it isn’t fine.” you shake your head, despite her refusal to look at you. “ and i don’t want to just brush this under the rug and pretend we’re okay when we’re not, either. can... i come in?”
you’re horrible at this. you’ve never argued with someone and actually wanted to make up with them before. but you’re trying, and you guess that’s better than nothing.
" you're not always really as happy as you seem, are you? " for sylvain, ofc (:
the unavoidable truth , 4 of 10
he hates it, hates the way that her question strikes him, as if she’d raised a hand and slapped him herself, the full force of her palm ( fierce and calloused and beautiful ) cracking against his cheek. it stuns him to silence, stops the breath in his throat, leaves the words that he’d been about to speak trapped within his lungs where they’re left to decay, to molder.
he wonders if it shows in his eyes, the way that her words have so quickly, so easily, managed to pull the rug out from beneath his feet; the way that they unsettle him--- the discomfort, the unease, sinking deep into the marrow of his bones. he wants to ask, am i that transparent, though he knows that such isn’t the case; knows that she is, that she’s always been, far more observant, more perceptive, than she lets on. he wears a mask, yes, but so does she. no one sees through a liar quite the way that a liar does themselves. she’d seen through his act just as he had seen through hers. they both knew as much, had both called one another out for such, and yet---
she’s now begun pressing further, digging deeper. it stirs something ugly within his chest, leaves him wanting to claw some unpleasant truth up from her in turn, though he refrains ( he tells himself that he’s better than that though, in truth, he isn’t so sure that he is ). he can’t fault her for seeing, for noticing what others have not ( unless they had and had, perhaps, simply chosen to ignore, not caring enough to question what they’d caught sight of, not wanting to know--- to which he couldn’t fault them for, really, not when he isn’t sure that he would have done so himself ).
all the same, he manages to huff a laugh ( it doesn’t ring as sure, as genuine, as he hopes ). ‘ probably not, no. ‘ in fact, he knows better, knows that it isn’t a matter of probably, knows that of course he’s not. of all the emotions that stir, that lurk beneath his skin, he wonders how often happiness finds its place among them. when is the last time that he’s been happy--- truly happy? how long has he been faking it, forcing it? he isn’t sure and that, perhaps, unnerves him most of all.
‘ but i doubt that anyone’s always as happy as they seem. after all, no one’s telling the truth all the time. ‘
she's tired... goddess above /if she's even there/, is she tired. her chest is heaving slower and slower with each breath, carmine eyes beginning to lose focus -- not that she had much anyway. blood loss and a throbbing headache had already more or less robbed her of that. still, she finds it in herself to offer him one last, halfhearted smile as her fingers begin to slip from his grip. " i'm really... really sorry, claude. i... i didn't wanna leave you like this... can you forgive me...? " - – @demuradonna , always accepting.
he found himself baffled at how she volunteered to defend the bridge. perhaps it is because of how the imperial forces have them cornered that she finds the motivation and well to fulfill this task. whatever it is, claude has his doubts about it. not because he doesn’t feel that he cannot entrust the task to her but, ‘ are you certain ? ‘ he worries for her wellbeing; the task will not be an easy one. a nod follows upon hearing her determined response. part of him wishes he could send her off with the same determination. but he cannot.
‘ hilda, ‘
he calls out to her, but words fail him for a moment. there’s too much he wants to say, but he knows the enemy won’t give him the thought to say it. ‘ be careful ‘ if something happens retreat (don’t try to be a hero).
derdriu has turned into a battlefield, the once gorgeous city remarked for its beauty now set ablaze by the imperial forces. a soldier comes rushing towards claude’s position. ‘ your grace ‘ the soldier stammers, panting as he gets on a knee to give his report, ‘ lady goneril is --- ‘ but he wasn’t able to finish his sentence for the leader of the alliance grabbed his bow before rushing towards the bridge leaving the remaining soldiers stunned before they too decided to take up arms. all shouting the same order ‘ protect the leader of the alliance ‘. claude wonders if she would call him a fool for going back like he did. he wouldn’t even blame her if she did. but he simply cannot leave without her; after all, she is his very first friend. they’re supposed to retreat together.
when he reaches her, he finds her on the ground, an imperial soldier with his axe raised in the air, about to deliver the final blow. an arrow pierces through his chest, causing the soldier to fall and tumble in the water below, the axe falling to the ground. ‘ -- hilda ! ‘ he shouts, dropping his bow to the ground before getting on his knees to pick her up. her response is to be expected. ‘ and leave you here ? ‘ he offers her a smile, ‘ you should know by now that is something i can’t do. ‘ he could never abandon her. ‘ come lets get you out of here. ‘ but it’s her wince that causes him to stop and examine his hand. blood. claude gazes down only to realize that his trousers are stained with blood, hilda’s blood.
and just like that, the facade drops and the smile falters.
she will not make it and claude knows it. she knows it too. he feels her hand pressing against his cheek leaving a bloody print ( a reminder that this is his fault ). ‘ what is there to forgive ? ‘ he breathes, his voice shaking a little as he places his hand on top of hers as he tries to recollect himself. he doesn’t want her last memory to be the one where he falls apart so now he must be strong; there is no place he can run off too. ‘ you were amazing you know that ? ‘ he says offering the praise that she deserves. ‘ without you i would not even have been here, ‘ you’re not leaving me. claude gazes down for a brief moment, ‘ hilda please --- ‘ please don’t leave me.
his eyes widen when he looks at her again, the gaze in her eyes has dulled and he knows that she is no longer with him. his mouth closes again and his eyes begin to sting but he hides it as he cradles her body the sounds of the battlefield falling to deaf ears. yet the way his body occasionally shakes gives him away, but he is too exhausted to longer care. not much time to grief is given to him as he can hear the footsteps of his own soldiers coming closer. ‘ your grace we must leave now. ‘ they cannot allow themselves to linger around the port any longer or else her sacrifice will be in vain.
claude pulls away and allows his hand to close her eyes. he must leave now. leaning in once more he presses his lips to her forehead. if there is a heaven out there and you’re watching, ‘ watch over me ‘
but just as he is about to stand up a barrage of arrows is sent their way, killing every alliance soldier in its path. all except for one. claude simply gazes up, only to be met with the tip of the sword of the creator (just like he expected). his grip on hilda never lessened as if to emphasize on the fact that hilda’s blood is on the professor’s hands as well. ‘ so you rose from the dead huh teach ? ‘
oh how much he wished they stayed dead.
@demuradonna said: " fewix... come uwu with the west of us pwease. " owo
“Absowutely nawt—Ugh! Now you have ME doing it, too.”
demuradonna replied to your post “first we burn the monastery AND NOW we’re giving it an f???”
can you explain to the professor that i can't afford another f???? please?????
professor, you cant give hilda an f! shes baby!
♗ SLAMS IN HERE SO FAST --
she’s so cute… i love hilda…
@demuradonna | meme.
