[To his credit, he seems willing enough to believe her; he nods slightly, though there's a thoughtful look on his face. Also I lied he still has a bandage on his hand but it's smaller now.]
...I don't know if that makes it easier. [Contemplative.] I think--it depends on the person. The circumstances.
He isn't wrong. It is different for everyone, and she is as much different from everyone as anyone else is. The problem is that she's already relived her trauma earlier this week in the form of memories and more.
Even if her pain compounds, she only expends more energy burying it. ]
What I fight for, what I strive to accomplish... it makes it more normal for me.
[ There are a few things she could say in answer to this, but there is a very convenient bubble that ensnares them right this moment.
Logically, Roxana shouldn't have any ability left to expel this bubble, but plot convenience is a wonderful tool that hopefully the mods will forgive me for.
She does not wish to be trapped, so she reaches over and bursts it. ]
You have finally pulled off a plan that has been in the making for months. You have freed the son of your father's greatest enemy from the prison of your family's home. You have revealed enough of the cards up your sleeves that it should be fine. Your father won't suspect a thing.
You are alone now, and you can longer ignore the pain. Your insides are on fire, poison surging through your veins, and you know you have overtaxed yourself.
The price to pay for your butterflies is lofty, but it is worth it.
Even as you cough up blood and struggle to stay upright, you know you wouldn't have chosen differently.
By this point, he really should be used to this. But despite how many memories like this he's been thrust into, despite what happened a few weeks ago, and earlier today--despite all of that, he still looks a little shaken when the memory ends, lifting a hand to his mouth as if to check for blood. It takes him a minute to focus on her again, to realize where he is, and even when he does, he curls his hand into his scarf and grips tightly.
He tries to parse the rest of it, though he's not sure he's successfully understood, distracted as he was by the taste of blood in his mouth yet again.]
[ sometimes, you just like girls with butterfly motifs.
He isn't used to it, and neither is she. She does not like her memories bared to the world. She does not like being perceived. While he collects himself, so does she. ]
[He just nods in response to that. Maybe he should ask why, but... people always want each other dead, for a myriad of reasons. It's hardly shocking to a sword.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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her movements are slow but steady, as she's fighting the color exhaustion but not letting it make her any less graceful. ]
I healed everything yesterday.
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I meant--here.
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[ She feels like no one will accept "I am fine" or "I will be fine" from her right now. ]
It is nothing I haven't done before.
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...I don't know if that makes it easier. [Contemplative.] I think--it depends on the person. The circumstances.
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He isn't wrong. It is different for everyone, and she is as much different from everyone as anyone else is. The problem is that she's already relived her trauma earlier this week in the form of memories and more.
Even if her pain compounds, she only expends more energy burying it. ]
What I fight for, what I strive to accomplish... it makes it more normal for me.
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What do you strive for?
1/2
Logically, Roxana shouldn't have any ability left to expel this bubble, but plot convenience is a wonderful tool that hopefully the mods will forgive me for.
She does not wish to be trapped, so she reaches over and bursts it. ]
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(cw: blood, gore)
You have finally pulled off a plan that has been in the making for months. You have freed the son of your father's greatest enemy from the prison of your family's home. You have revealed enough of the cards up your sleeves that it should be fine. Your father won't suspect a thing.
You are alone now, and you can longer ignore the pain. Your insides are on fire, poison surging through your veins, and you know you have overtaxed yourself.
The price to pay for your butterflies is lofty, but it is worth it.
Even as you cough up blood and struggle to stay upright, you know you wouldn't have chosen differently.
Everything you do is for your own survival. ]
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By this point, he really should be used to this. But despite how many memories like this he's been thrust into, despite what happened a few weeks ago, and earlier today--despite all of that, he still looks a little shaken when the memory ends, lifting a hand to his mouth as if to check for blood. It takes him a minute to focus on her again, to realize where he is, and even when he does, he curls his hand into his scarf and grips tightly.
He tries to parse the rest of it, though he's not sure he's successfully understood, distracted as he was by the taste of blood in his mouth yet again.]
You were... saving someone?
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He isn't used to it, and neither is she. She does not like her memories bared to the world. She does not like being perceived. While he collects himself, so does she. ]
He is someone my father would prefer dead.
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But you don't agree with him?
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[ She does not exactly have that. ]