@ophiopagy
❛ 𝐈 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐘, 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑. ❜ unintentionally bitter, it’s all they manage to stifle from a false mouth, trying to deflect any sort of attention towards them. at the moment, this wasn’t about the extinction of his people or a long forgotten past: what happened is 50,000 years overdue. ❛ what happens now is what matters, ❜ their voice softens again, but it doesn’t wash away the typical harshness a prothean might have.
sometimes, they feel nothing — the empty burden of foggy memories was like sifting through an eternity of a thick, impenetrable smoke. to have your mortality thrown away was like letting go of your feelings and attachments to the world, and to dissociate your past self with your current state… nothing was more haunting than to quietly forget. other times they felt everything, the episodic revelation rushing in like a heavy flood. poring through every emotion felt so callous it made the mind and body ache, a spark that turned into a fiery reminder of their only purpose: to avenge.
but now he stood between the empty space that occupied them both. it was impolite to not be sharing eye contact, so vazaan moves closer in proximity, head bowing but refusing to break line of sight.
❛ the reapers know they cannot break you physically, so they choose to break your spirit instead. if you let your grief swallow you whole, then the war is already lost. use this moment to channel your emotions into tenacity, to coalesce and emerge stronger than before. ❜
Liara supposes that perhaps she needs another hundred years to prevent herself from accidentally misspeaking. She supposes now that yes, it was both of those things, wasn’t it? Her shoulders drop apologetically. The Protheans were incredible, but also surprisingly harsh. She feels a very poignant twinge of embarrassment of her deep infatuation with them.
She needs to hear this though, because it rings true. She cannot stop but see Thessia in her mind, of the church her mother took her to as a child. Of all the relics that she had seen time and time again without knowing their true meaning. The anger she feels now pales compared to what she felt against the last Shadow Broker. Instead of apologizing, of bowing her head slightly in understanding she nods. The eye contact they make is pointed.
They have Commander Shepard. It very well may be misplaced naivety again, but still Liara believes that is what means that they will win.
“Yes,” She replies to his direction, whether he means it to be or not. How strange is it, she wonders, for a Prothean to see what they are now. To see an Asari so far evolved from what they had been 50,000 years ago. She could ask them so much, but it all seems so trivial when there is a war going on. That gives her an idea, though.
“What will you do?” she asks softly, harsh lines on her face softening even though determination remains, “When all of this is over.” If we win.
