[ The hardest thing - the longest thing - in watching the world you were born to become a memory forgotten by anyone but yourself - in turning herself into a cavern of secrets, in the rage of a war that has been going for centuries that she lets burn inside of herself so deeply she cannot be anything else anymore. There can be nothing else, she knows, everything else is - stalling, waiting, foolish things to dream of.
But there are no words for its loneliness. That how such a thing, so little a thing as his fingers brushing against her hair, can be so much. ( Galahad's hand, set onto hers, his warmth, his murmur for her safety like she's something worth being precious about - and he will be fine, he must be, she cannot afford to keep thinking on it. ) How it is to drift, so far out of herself, as year after year blur into a war she could never fathom the end of but never knows how to stop, to go back, never look back - it is full of the dead and rotting things on the battlefield where she should have perished with them.
This would be so easy.
Her hand catches his, fingers curling around his rough and warm, short blunt nails, where once her hands had been painted by her maids in lotuses of the Goddess she had taken the name of. Feels the weight of his hand in hers, how he is so much taller than she and she doesn't feel trapped by that even if instinct from fighting things so much monstrously more than herself. Feels the heaviness of the blackwater tucked away against the thud, thud, thud of her heart. Eyes shut and forgive her weakness, a moment when there's nothing but the easiness of some things long forgotten and so needily familiar, and she swallows on it. ]
By.
[ It's warm too, half breath of heat in her throat, the steady thump of her pulse she can feel working it's way up that is the after taste of the blackwater that kept her - as he appreciates her now. ]
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But there are no words for its loneliness. That how such a thing, so little a thing as his fingers brushing against her hair, can be so much. ( Galahad's hand, set onto hers, his warmth, his murmur for her safety like she's something worth being precious about - and he will be fine, he must be, she cannot afford to keep thinking on it. ) How it is to drift, so far out of herself, as year after year blur into a war she could never fathom the end of but never knows how to stop, to go back, never look back - it is full of the dead and rotting things on the battlefield where she should have perished with them.
This would be so easy.
Her hand catches his, fingers curling around his rough and warm, short blunt nails, where once her hands had been painted by her maids in lotuses of the Goddess she had taken the name of. Feels the weight of his hand in hers, how he is so much taller than she and she doesn't feel trapped by that even if instinct from fighting things so much monstrously more than herself. Feels the heaviness of the blackwater tucked away against the thud, thud, thud of her heart. Eyes shut and forgive her weakness, a moment when there's nothing but the easiness of some things long forgotten and so needily familiar, and she swallows on it. ]
By.
[ It's warm too, half breath of heat in her throat, the steady thump of her pulse she can feel working it's way up that is the after taste of the blackwater that kept her - as he appreciates her now. ]