[ The seconds stretch as Hilda waits for the axe to swing. If there's one thing she could count on was that Sylvain and Claude both hated rules so surely, they'd balk at hers. Is it sick that a part is counting on that? Hopes that they tell her no, absolutely not? That she's out of her mind, she's selfish, she's everything she had been telling them she is because the thing they have with each other is good and sweet and she's something long turned sour? She feels Claude's hand come to her waist and she jolts like a rabbit ready to bolt, not because she thinks he's trying to hold her in place, but because he's furious with her. But no shove comes, and when her instinct to bolt rears, it's stopped in its tracks when she sees Sylvain's stricken expression like she had just punched him in the gut. It spears her through, rooting her to the spot.
Hilda knows this feeling, this stinging disappointment that permeates the air. This is what she feared the most. The buzzing at the base of her skull grows louder, drowning out the sound of the fire and she feels short of breath. Claude's gentle, but firm scolding of her last ditch attempt stings her cheeks, the shame rising in her throat. Unbeknownst to her, something akin to a large monstrous flower flickers over her face like an image distorted - before it's gone as quickly as it comes.
There it is. Confirmation that she isn't everything she tries to paint herself to be. How are they better together, she wonders, when all she's been good at since arriving is causing them both trouble and asking unreasonable things? She's a creature of habit. This would happen again. They'd barely begun and this only proves to her that there is no reward for being greedy. She should have kept plastering her walls over with gossamer and silk and been the good supportive friend she wanted to be. And there's still a chance for her to do that if she says she can't agree to what is a reasonable compromise.
She could play the bratty princess card, the one she knew like the back of her hand. The one that loved to bemoan how cruel the world was to her when it was actually the other way around. Her complaints and cruel jibes are already on the tip of her tongue: Why is she compromising when she's been told to be greedy and take what she wants? Why couldn't someone be as greedy for her as she was for them and only her? And if Claude was already wagering, predicting, that he would fall for someone else so soon, shouldn't she save herself the heartbreak and tears now? Sylvain would be fine if that happened, he'd land on his feet. He had love in spades already - he just couldn't see it yet. She couldn't put herself through this again. She wouldn't. And if she had to stomp on some hearts in the process, she would because if life taught her anything, everything was replaceable after some tears and some coin. Life would go on and she'd forget all about it the next day.
As tempting, as easy, as those words would be to say, they taste acrid on her tongue. She knows she would never say those things because, despite already bruising them, she never wanted anything to happen to their dear hearts. And more importantly, she didn't mean any of those things. Nothing, no one, could replace them, not even Alucard and her friend knew that. Others could take her place though, less problematic others. Brilliant, better, others that matched the way they shone - not like her fool's gold. Hilda knows she's the problem. Despairingly she wonders why they couldn't see that. Why else would she have offered up a condition so awful and manipulative? So hurtful? So unforgiving? How does she ever make amends after this? Conflicting emotions war inside her and she grips herself tighter, fingernails digging into her flesh drawing in shallow, shuddering breathes in an attempt to pull herself together.
Her voice is thick, heavy and toneless as shame weighs down her head until her gaze lands on the same spot on the floor. ]
Sylvain was seeing someone first. If we're following that logic, he should have the first say.
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Hilda knows this feeling, this stinging disappointment that permeates the air. This is what she feared the most. The buzzing at the base of her skull grows louder, drowning out the sound of the fire and she feels short of breath. Claude's gentle, but firm scolding of her last ditch attempt stings her cheeks, the shame rising in her throat. Unbeknownst to her, something akin to a large monstrous flower flickers over her face like an image distorted - before it's gone as quickly as it comes.
There it is. Confirmation that she isn't everything she tries to paint herself to be. How are they better together, she wonders, when all she's been good at since arriving is causing them both trouble and asking unreasonable things? She's a creature of habit. This would happen again. They'd barely begun and this only proves to her that there is no reward for being greedy. She should have kept plastering her walls over with gossamer and silk and been the good supportive friend she wanted to be. And there's still a chance for her to do that if she says she can't agree to what is a reasonable compromise.
She could play the bratty princess card, the one she knew like the back of her hand. The one that loved to bemoan how cruel the world was to her when it was actually the other way around. Her complaints and cruel jibes are already on the tip of her tongue: Why is she compromising when she's been told to be greedy and take what she wants? Why couldn't someone be as greedy for her as she was for them and only her? And if Claude was already wagering, predicting, that he would fall for someone else so soon, shouldn't she save herself the heartbreak and tears now? Sylvain would be fine if that happened, he'd land on his feet. He had love in spades already - he just couldn't see it yet. She couldn't put herself through this again. She wouldn't. And if she had to stomp on some hearts in the process, she would because if life taught her anything, everything was replaceable after some tears and some coin. Life would go on and she'd forget all about it the next day.
As tempting, as easy, as those words would be to say, they taste acrid on her tongue. She knows she would never say those things because, despite already bruising them, she never wanted anything to happen to their dear hearts. And more importantly, she didn't mean any of those things. Nothing, no one, could replace them, not even Alucard and her friend knew that. Others could take her place though, less problematic others. Brilliant, better, others that matched the way they shone - not like her fool's gold. Hilda knows she's the problem. Despairingly she wonders why they couldn't see that. Why else would she have offered up a condition so awful and manipulative? So hurtful? So unforgiving? How does she ever make amends after this? Conflicting emotions war inside her and she grips herself tighter, fingernails digging into her flesh drawing in shallow, shuddering breathes in an attempt to pull herself together.
Her voice is thick, heavy and toneless as shame weighs down her head until her gaze lands on the same spot on the floor. ]
Sylvain was seeing someone first. If we're following that logic, he should have the first say.