They twitch and peek up, half-circles of their eyes shown, making sure she's yet unharmed. They still don't know what they're doing. The Knight nearly pulls away first, but she struggles to stay, and they clumsily lay their feelings flat for Seer's to pour over.
And it does. Her guilt, hers alone. Her fear, that isn't only fear of displeasing a Higher Being and King, but that she--her action did irreparable damage.
In turn, hope rises in faltering bubbles.
They absorb all this and hold it tight.
A fountain overflows. Relief rushes to her, and gratefulness, buoyed on a firm platform of satisfaction: knowing that she knows now, in full, why they were so agonizingly hurt. Not a lie, not pretending. Genuine understanding.
Their body fades until recognizably theirs again, Shade Wings clinging to their sides, the link still cautiously held open as they slowly stand again.
They're still hurt. They set that forward, matter-of-factly. They will stay hurt. It's not easy to heal that. But hurts don't necessarily stay forever, and she is not the first to do so, even if this struck a weak point they didn't know they had.
And Seer understands. That's enough, now, for their fear of repeating this blow to lessen considerably.
Realizing a future can be had is difficult. (Put forth for examination, mostly intentionally: wandering the Wastes with nothing but a Nail to their name, no hope, no goal, nothing but existing, dully, and no expectation for this to change.) They don't have a place for her. She is not theirs to put where they please, but they'd help. They will. She isn't the only of Hallownest to be building something new.
(Images, feelings, accidental: the Nailsmith's back to them, full of awe and waiting for their suddenly-heavy blade; Lemm, admitting he never expected himself to be anything but witness to other stories he could never be in; the Nailsmith, warm and pleased and learning at Sheo's side; Lemm, earnestly explaining things they don't understand at all, but listen anyway. Myla, alive. Myla, alive. Dirtmouth growing from nothing to something again. Realizing that they're a part of it too when honest affection and appreciation is aimed at them, stunning and terrifying and joyful.)
No matter how the residual hurt stays, they're grateful, they make a point to impress upon her. Grateful she's listening now. So, so grateful she's still here, and her apology is accepted.
no subject
And it does. Her guilt, hers alone. Her fear, that isn't only fear of displeasing a Higher Being and King, but that she--her action did irreparable damage.
In turn, hope rises in faltering bubbles.
They absorb all this and hold it tight.
A fountain overflows. Relief rushes to her, and gratefulness, buoyed on a firm platform of satisfaction: knowing that she knows now, in full, why they were so agonizingly hurt. Not a lie, not pretending. Genuine understanding.
Their body fades until recognizably theirs again, Shade Wings clinging to their sides, the link still cautiously held open as they slowly stand again.
They're still hurt. They set that forward, matter-of-factly. They will stay hurt. It's not easy to heal that. But hurts don't necessarily stay forever, and she is not the first to do so, even if this struck a weak point they didn't know they had.
And Seer understands. That's enough, now, for their fear of repeating this blow to lessen considerably.
Realizing a future can be had is difficult. (Put forth for examination, mostly intentionally: wandering the Wastes with nothing but a Nail to their name, no hope, no goal, nothing but existing, dully, and no expectation for this to change.) They don't have a place for her. She is not theirs to put where they please, but they'd help. They will. She isn't the only of Hallownest to be building something new.
(Images, feelings, accidental: the Nailsmith's back to them, full of awe and waiting for their suddenly-heavy blade; Lemm, admitting he never expected himself to be anything but witness to other stories he could never be in; the Nailsmith, warm and pleased and learning at Sheo's side; Lemm, earnestly explaining things they don't understand at all, but listen anyway. Myla, alive. Myla, alive. Dirtmouth growing from nothing to something again. Realizing that they're a part of it too when honest affection and appreciation is aimed at them, stunning and terrifying and joyful.)
No matter how the residual hurt stays, they're grateful, they make a point to impress upon her. Grateful she's listening now. So, so grateful she's still here, and her apology is accepted.