histoires assombries
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Her response is nearly as surprising as the rumor itself. An interest in the supernatural, born from a reality that was far more frightening. Hubert quietly hums his understanding, although it’s no less strange to hear the words from Mercedes. He would have more easily believed it from someone like Bernadetta, despite her timidity, or Petra, to assuage the horrors of being uprooted from one’s home. But it had been Hubert’s mistake to assume that nothing lurked beneath Mercedes’ compassion and kind smile.
At her mention of Linhardt’s cowardice, he doesn’t bother hiding the knowing half-smile that creeps across his lips. A memory of crimson ink and a face blanched white flickers through his mind just vibrant enough for him to know that he had scared the Hevring heir as well. And that it, too, had been swept beneath a crumbling mask of bravery and defiance. A child, that one is. But he doesn’t comment, having glimpsed that familiar head of green somewhere along the beach earlier that day. He has never been one to gossip out in the open.
“You wear quite a mask,” he says instead, jeering tone tempered by an undercurrent of solemnity. Severe lines carved by firelight hide the smirk that still sits on his lips and conceal his eyes in deep shadow. He doesn’t look at her.
“No one would believe that you have hardships of your own. I suppose that makes it easier for you to dote on others.”
He hums in understanding, and she allows herself to relax a bit more, shoulders slumping ever so slightly. She happens to glance towards him in time to see the half-smile as she speaks on Linhardt’s poorly disguised fear, and her own lips quirk a bit further upwards, but she looks back to the fire soon enough- much sooner than when Hubert speaks again, and she does glance at him as he speaks, but upon seeing his gaze elsewhere, she too looks elsewhere- the fire, specifically. Fire, in it’s wild nature and all the destruction it held the potential of causing, remained harmless here, contained to a small space, eventually to starve itself out.
There’s something in that that reminds her of a great many people.
She pulls the shawl tighter over her shoulders to ward off the chill despite knowing full well it was from within herself that she summoned up a shiver, thoughts settled as they were in the morose and dreary.
When he speaks, she can hear the difference in his tone, however slight it may be, and she hums.
“It is not so much a mask as it is... well, myself now. It began as a mask, but... if you wear a mask for long enough, in time it becomes your face, moreso than the one you hid under the mask in the first place.” She watches the fire, the flickering of flames, the ebb and flow to the glow of the embers with the breeze.
“In all honesty, I think it rather short-sighted for people to believe myself to have lived a life free of suffering. In all my time on this earth, time and time again I have seen one thing remain constant; those who are kindest to others, who lend their whole heart and soul to aid those in need of it- they are themselves survivors of much grief, much pain in whatever form it may take. Those who do their best to give and give until there is nothing left of them to take, they have often suffered in some way, and suffered for a considerable time. And part of how they find themselves attempting to heal their own wounds- they give and give to others to do their best to ensure others do not suffer in the same way, to offer respite where they may, and in seeing another person flourish where they themselves had no choice but to whither... That is how they heal.” She gives a soft, slightly sad smile to the fire, and thinks of Edelgard. She is well aware she is missing a number of the pieces of that puzzle, but she has enough to have an idea of what it is attempting to portray.
“In my case, I suppose I am still healing, because there is no way to heal fully, to become who you might have in another world where you do not suffer as heavily. I am still healing, but I have healed considerably from my own suffering, I have learned better where I might set boundaries as to when I can give and when I must hold the various parts of myself to my chest. And it has become a part of who I am to want to dote, to give others the love I was withheld many, many years ago. And perhaps it is easier to dote when people do not believe my past to have been fraught with struggles, when they see me as an icon of human devotion, but perhaps it is harder. If everyone were to believe I did not ever suffer, I believe my warm nature and quiet positivity may well come across as uninformed and naive, convincing people that I would never truly sympathize with their struggles, their hardships. It all depends on the person, I suppose. How they perceive those around them- the world around them. There is no single way or method that makes such things easier on all accounts.”
@vonvestra