@scourgeborne whispered: ❛ some do believe divine purpose blesses them. that is not what i believe. ❜
She’s oddly quiet in the midst of their discussion, the murky waters of questionable theology a topic more readily skirted around while in the Chancellor’s presence. Ardyn’s never made it any grand secret that he thinks the gods are a falsehood. Some of the first words he’d ever said to her even, had been to dub himself a heretic - but still the underpinning notion of divinity comforts the florist. It gives perspective to her impending SACRIFICE, a different scope of view that adds clarity even if only to soothe the ravages of her own uncertainty.
❝Maybe blesses is the wrong word.❞ Couldn’t CURSED be equally as apt? The idea that nothing was a choice, that it had been preordained from the start certainly added an element of overriding futility to any future plans. In some respects it fuelled the mentality of why bother fighting it, yet in others, there was a certain weight lifted from knowing that things were INEVITABLE. It removed the burden of blame, the indecision and constant gnawing doubt that maybe if you’d made a different choice, you could’ve averted some grand catastrophe? In essence, didn’t that better prepare you to make your peace with it?
There are many things she’s failed to tell her daemonic companion, secrets too closely buried yet inadvertently pried out one by one. Maybe this is one of them. Too much of her thought process and true self exposed and raw in the silence that sits between syllables. She’s CONFLICTED; uncomfortably so, but like any stubborn child clinging to the last shreds of a dying rebellion, Aerith fails to shy away.
She could wax lyrical for hours about the gifts the planet has bestowed upon her, about the immeasurable joy and significance that communing with the epitome of all life gave her, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth. It wouldn’t explain the price she paid for it. For the constant noise within her head, for the sleepless nights and weight of purpose, nor the indescribable and unrelenting agony of feeling all of its pain.
Pearly teeth set forth to devour her lower lip, worrying pink flesh to the point it threatened to sting and BLEED. It was only at the first hint of metallic retribution upon her tongue that the ancient looked up, verdant gaze heavy but determined as it sought closure and guidance from the most unlikely and arguably DAMNED source.
