He snaps back almost instantly. Good. She's gearing for an argument, and who better to have one with than The Bastard of the Barrel? She would never presume he would back down from her, though– lethal as her hand may be, he has no reason to fear her in that way. He could overtake her in a fight if she had no blade on her. Not that he would have to; she'd never go for him like that in the first place.
"I'm not punishing you," she bites back, not bothering to contain the roll of her eyes. "I just–" It's a tangled, frustrated sound that cuts her words short, not sure how to conceptualize it all into words. She's just tired. And it keeps not mattering, because no matter what, the world just keeps handing her more and more to hold.
His gaze is sharp and cold as steel, but his voice, his voice is so soft it disarms her almost instantly. Her eyes close as she listens to his words, and almost more than she knows how to handle, she just wants to crumble into him, make him hold her– not with whispers of lies of how everything will be okay, just this, harsh truths and genuine wishes, however far out of reach they feel.
She doesn't, of course. She barely wavers where she stands. But as close as he is? It would be nearly impossible to miss the sag in her shoulders, the way she tucks her head just slightly, curls in on herself in a nearly imperceptible way.
She expects nothing (life is so much easier when you stop having expectations). She just needs him to stay where he is. Near. So she can feel the presence of him, even as her eyes are closed and she can't actually see him.
"But you'll be there...?" she asks on wavering tones. "Even if... our paths don't perfectly align?" She doesn't think that will ever be true, not really. Whatever path the girl that had been pulled onto that ship all those years ago would have followed was yanked out from under her the moment she'd been stolen. But she wants to hear him say it anyway. That she doesn't have to be The Wraith for him to... need her? Want her?
She doesn't dare let herself so much as think the other word.
no subject
"I'm not punishing you," she bites back, not bothering to contain the roll of her eyes. "I just–" It's a tangled, frustrated sound that cuts her words short, not sure how to conceptualize it all into words. She's just tired. And it keeps not mattering, because no matter what, the world just keeps handing her more and more to hold.
His gaze is sharp and cold as steel, but his voice, his voice is so soft it disarms her almost instantly. Her eyes close as she listens to his words, and almost more than she knows how to handle, she just wants to crumble into him, make him hold her– not with whispers of lies of how everything will be okay, just this, harsh truths and genuine wishes, however far out of reach they feel.
She doesn't, of course. She barely wavers where she stands. But as close as he is? It would be nearly impossible to miss the sag in her shoulders, the way she tucks her head just slightly, curls in on herself in a nearly imperceptible way.
She expects nothing (life is so much easier when you stop having expectations). She just needs him to stay where he is. Near. So she can feel the presence of him, even as her eyes are closed and she can't actually see him.
"But you'll be there...?" she asks on wavering tones. "Even if... our paths don't perfectly align?" She doesn't think that will ever be true, not really. Whatever path the girl that had been pulled onto that ship all those years ago would have followed was yanked out from under her the moment she'd been stolen. But she wants to hear him say it anyway. That she doesn't have to be The Wraith for him to... need her? Want her?