[ The faint smile coupled with his words and his touch fractures the cracks in her heart a little more although she can't be certain why. Isn't this what she wanted to hear the whole time that he had been gone? That he still cared, hadn't yet outgrown her in their time apart? That it was going to be the two of them scheming, laughing, even for just a little while longer?
She toes the line of her carefully constructed box for fear of failure and she's okay with that because it means being able to see her friends blossom and shine. It's apparent to her how he's changed (whether that's from his time here, because of the war that has ended for him but hasn't for her, or a combination of the two, she can't say) even if he's reluctant to admit it to himself. The change is so apparent in the relationships he's forged not just with Petra and Sylvain, but also with the other Summoned. She should be happy there's still room for her at all. Grateful to still be thought of so highly by someone she adored. But her greedy heart has always wanted more.
Something claws at Hilda's throat like it's trying to get out. Is it envy ? Resentment? A desire for more? Whatever it is, she won't let it. She can't. Feeling what she does already threatens to tip a delicate balance.
Pull yourself together, Hilda. Somehow she's found herself in a pool of fear and worry. He's trying, for her sake, to throw her a lifeline to help her swim because this isn't her. This tired, crying, anxious person is not Hilda Goneril. Or rather, it's not a version of herself that she's made herself out to be. She should be sure of her place, if not by Claude's side, then at least in his orbit. The former deserved to be filled with someone that burned just as brightly as he did. Her greedy heart should be satisfied with that. If Claude had changed, then perhaps so should she with her childish wants. Right? ]
Tell me about it. [ Leaning into his touch, she cups the hand holding her cheek tight. Her eyes flutter closed, trying to sound amused and failing. ] We got pulled into a different world and here we are. It's like a sign, huh? [ Her failed attempt at humour forms as a lump in her throat. She tries to steady herself, tries to find any words to say that can express how much she cares without giving away too much. Nothing seems appropriate or safe enough. After a beat she gathers his hand and brings it to her lips, pressing feather light kisses to bandaged fingers instead. ]
no subject
She toes the line of her carefully constructed box for fear of failure and she's okay with that because it means being able to see her friends blossom and shine. It's apparent to her how he's changed (whether that's from his time here, because of the war that has ended for him but hasn't for her, or a combination of the two, she can't say) even if he's reluctant to admit it to himself. The change is so apparent in the relationships he's forged not just with Petra and Sylvain, but also with the other Summoned. She should be happy there's still room for her at all. Grateful to still be thought of so highly by someone she adored. But her greedy heart has always wanted more.
Something claws at Hilda's throat like it's trying to get out. Is it envy ? Resentment? A desire for more? Whatever it is, she won't let it. She can't. Feeling what she does already threatens to tip a delicate balance.
Pull yourself together, Hilda. Somehow she's found herself in a pool of fear and worry. He's trying, for her sake, to throw her a lifeline to help her swim because this isn't her. This tired, crying, anxious person is not Hilda Goneril. Or rather, it's not a version of herself that she's made herself out to be. She should be sure of her place, if not by Claude's side, then at least in his orbit. The former deserved to be filled with someone that burned just as brightly as he did. Her greedy heart should be satisfied with that. If Claude had changed, then perhaps so should she with her childish wants. Right? ]
Tell me about it. [ Leaning into his touch, she cups the hand holding her cheek tight. Her eyes flutter closed, trying to sound amused and failing. ] We got pulled into a different world and here we are. It's like a sign, huh? [ Her failed attempt at humour forms as a lump in her throat. She tries to steady herself, tries to find any words to say that can express how much she cares without giving away too much. Nothing seems appropriate or safe enough. After a beat she gathers his hand and brings it to her lips, pressing feather light kisses to bandaged fingers instead. ]
I'm sorry for [ Worrying, bothering, burdening — ] waking you.