* @foxenhund / holmes, sherlock: there are many ways to lose a person. to agnes montague
"hmm," is her noncommittal response. agnes stirs her coffee, still warm despite the time it spent sitting on her table as she languidly spent the afternoon reading the newest book jude had given her. at one point, it began to smoke around the edges, and agnes had to put it down and recalibrate her own internal temperature before picking it up again. she turns a crisp page just now, regarding the detective pallidly above the tan, aging pages.
"i don't think i ever counted. do you?" bright blue eyes blink up at him. they have been described so many ways — captivating, enchanting, ensnaring — but agnes thinks they're just eyes. eyes that reflect the lightless flame. despite being the chosen one of her people, she has lost so many of those who she cared about. sometimes out of necessity, sometimes because they choose to leave her. sometimes because she doesn't know how to make them stay. regardless, she isn't in the habit of counting the ones she lost, nor does she think too hard of why. it seems like a pointless exercise, and possibly painful, too.
agnes sets her book down, tips her head sideways and looks off thoughtfully into the distance. "i try not to hold on too tight to people. there's only so much you can do to keep them." and when the world is scoured and scorched, none of them will be left. none but the cult of the desolation. so is there even a point in trying? "these days i try to... focus on myself. losing a person is one thing, mr. holmes. but you can lose yourself, too. lose your direction. forget your purpose." her attention gently shifts, and hones in on the man before her. "tell me, mr. holmes, do you believe in destiny?"
ask prompts. / accepting!
