It had come as something of a dismay, when she’d finally fled to this Horizon after having been introduced to it, and how to access it, for the first time, only to discover that it did nothing to prevent the sharing of memories. (It had been a rather desperate move in the first place, but it would have been nice.)
The migraines were just as blinding inside the Horizon as they were outside of the place, and she’s glad that her… little realm, her corner of it, has a great number of cosy, comfortable chairs for her to collapse into until the pain passes.
She doesn’t recognize the man in this particular memory, but, despite the violence and blood of a nest of something that reminds her of the wyverns she’s seen in her studies (not quite right, not quite the same, but close enough that she wonders if they’re just the wyverns in whatever world this is), it’s… touching. The pushing the now-bloodied sword and a wyvern’s head into the boy’s hands. How pleased the boy’s father was to hear that his son had taken care of one.
Given that retreating to the Horizon is precisely no help, there’s no sense in continuing to hide there. So she goes to the market, skittish and deftly avoiding touch as best she can. All she wants is fruit. Bread. Perhaps cheese. She might not have much of an appetite but she knows she ought to try and eat something.
She’s turning, and someone is stepping into her path. And she knows him. But she doesn’t. She’s never met him before this moment, but it doesn’t change the fact that she knows him, that she’s seen a part of his past. Without his having any say in the matter. There’s no hiding the recognition on her face, even as he tells her that he knows her.
Oh gods. What did he see, she wonders. What wretched piece of her past did he have forced into his head. The thought makes her want to flee, makes her want to hide. But she doesn’t. She won’t.
“And I know you,” she murmurs. He deserves to know that the… invasion of memories was mutual. Deserves to know that she’s seen a part of his past. “I’m almost afraid to ask what it is you saw. But I’m sorry. It’s not something I’d wish for anyone to have in their head.” Her smile is lopsided, an attempt at humour because what else is she to do. “Not even my own.”
That works perfectly!
The migraines were just as blinding inside the Horizon as they were outside of the place, and she’s glad that her… little realm, her corner of it, has a great number of cosy, comfortable chairs for her to collapse into until the pain passes.
She doesn’t recognize the man in this particular memory, but, despite the violence and blood of a nest of something that reminds her of the wyverns she’s seen in her studies (not quite right, not quite the same, but close enough that she wonders if they’re just the wyverns in whatever world this is), it’s… touching. The pushing the now-bloodied sword and a wyvern’s head into the boy’s hands. How pleased the boy’s father was to hear that his son had taken care of one.
Given that retreating to the Horizon is precisely no help, there’s no sense in continuing to hide there. So she goes to the market, skittish and deftly avoiding touch as best she can. All she wants is fruit. Bread. Perhaps cheese. She might not have much of an appetite but she knows she ought to try and eat something.
She’s turning, and someone is stepping into her path. And she knows him. But she doesn’t. She’s never met him before this moment, but it doesn’t change the fact that she knows him, that she’s seen a part of his past. Without his having any say in the matter. There’s no hiding the recognition on her face, even as he tells her that he knows her.
Oh gods. What did he see, she wonders. What wretched piece of her past did he have forced into his head. The thought makes her want to flee, makes her want to hide. But she doesn’t. She won’t.
“And I know you,” she murmurs. He deserves to know that the… invasion of memories was mutual. Deserves to know that she’s seen a part of his past. “I’m almost afraid to ask what it is you saw. But I’m sorry. It’s not something I’d wish for anyone to have in their head.” Her smile is lopsided, an attempt at humour because what else is she to do. “Not even my own.”