Okay so this is the last time I'm putting effort into my Artober things I ended up not liking this but I am NOT restarting this so yeah here. And no I'm not shading it, that'd take even LONGER and make it look worse so h
A soft hand touches his chin, lifts his head up to look at the owner of the hand, even though he already knows. She’s there, black curly hair forming a halo around her head, looking at him with molten gold swirling in her dark green eyes. And in this moment he knows-- she’s more of an angel than he is, than he’s ever been, than he ever will be.
“Tell me, pretty boy, how long were you planning on keeping this front?” Her voice is gentle, but not full of pity, not infantilizing. It’s the first time he’s heard this voice from her when she isn’t talking to that princess out there.
He drops his eyes back down to the ground, ignoring the way they sting and how blinking only seems to intensity that feeling. “Why should I let people see...me? It’s not who they want; all they want it is their war hero, their rebel leader…”
He can’t help the feeling of wrongness that comes with speaking the words, of putting them into the universe, into the ears of this woman who he barely knows yet can’t help but trust. He’s revealing his weaknesses to her, and who knows if she’ll use this information against him in the future. But he can’t bring himself to care right now; he’s found someone he can talk to, someone who is encouraging him to talk.
“And all my parents wanted was a prim and proper daughter, and yet they got me. A rebel. A murderer. A wanted criminal. We can’t be what people want us to be, but that doesn’t mean that we should act like someone else just to act like that person they want.”
Culraes jerks back, staring at the woman before him. He shouldn’t be completely surprised of her past; why else would someone from Feria come to Issera during a civil war? Only a criminal. Of course, he’s the same. A murderer. He rubs his hand on his prosthetic, fingers falling into the carvings of the wood, evidence of all the training and fighting he’s been through, the gashes in the wood would-be scars from enemies that would have gladly slain him.
“Listen here, pretty boy. You can’t keep who you are locked away forever. I get it, you don’t want to seem weak in front of the people who are trusting you with their lives, and that’s a big responsibility. But you have to have someone you can turn to and express all these feelings to, or else you are going to completely lose who you are and there’s no turning back from that. So pick someone, Culraes, and pick them well.”
“...what if I picked you?”
His heart pounds in his throat, regretting the words as soon as he said them, but he can’t take them back now. They’re out there, floating, and she’s there, staring at him with those golden eyes that make his throat tighten.
“What if you did?”
“If I picked you, would you agree to it?”
She tilts her head at him, lips turned into something akin to a smirk, and Culraes’ heart stops. “Why do you trust me to know so much about you?”
Mouth immediately drying until it feels like the desert sands, Culraes has to take a few moments to gather himself before answering. “I’m not sure. I think...you just...understand. More than a lot of others do.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“And you don’t know me, yet you’ve already pledged yourself for the cause that I’m fighting for.”
“You got me there,” she says with a grin. Sitting down across from him, she leans her hand into her chin and stares right at him. He keeps his eyes glued on her, refusing to look down at his hand curled so tight that the knuckles have paled, refusing to give into the the cowardice he longs to fall into.
