* ╱ @𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅: [ fix ] for your muse to treat mine’s injury / for seryna & juno.... is it too soon.. o well !
“you didn’t have to do that,” she sighs, having him lift at the hem of his shirt in order to assess the wound on the side of his torso. “you didn’t have to help me.” no one said it would be easy — when playing a game of life or death within a game of life or death, how could it ever be? — but seryna had always despised how even the simplest of missions could easily turn a full 180. it was supposed to be a straightforward dungeon on a lower floor nowhere close to being past their skill level: defeat the monster, get what they need, move on. how could she have predicted members of a rebel guild were camping the area, just waiting for an oblivious pair to do most of the dirty work before rushing in to steal the final blow? steal their resources? how was she to know they were willing to resort to violence to make sure no one stood in their way? how kills were practically bragging rights for them? how... had it not been for her companion stepping in between her and an attacker at just the right moment, seryna would have been in a much, much worse condition than he? this was not the first time he had saved her life, and it’s likely not the last. still, as she goes through the procedure of cleaning his wound with gathered supplies — “keep still,” she whispers — all she can think about is how much she’s already burdened him, how she hopes they’ll one day be able to succeed in their mission, so long as it doesn’t kill them first. she supposes they’ll be able to rest a little easier once their mutual threat is eliminated and they’re able to part ways, but why does it feel like she’s losing something in the process?
she holds the dressing in her hands but pauses for a moment, a deep sigh leaving her lips. “why would you—” fists fall into her lap, head drops. seryna bites her lip in attempt to halt the tears welling in her eyes, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he can already tell emotions are getting the best of her. “i don’t want you to put yourself in danger for me,” she murmurs, both a request to him and an affirmation to herself that she wasn’t forcing him to. “i won’t be able to forgive myself if you keep getting hurt saving me, so please,” she inhales sharply, “don’t. if not for your conscience, then mine.” she wraps up his torso and her sentence, lowering his shirt and rising from her seat to step away for a moment.