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.]
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no subject
(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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
But you don't agree with him?
no subject
[ She does not exactly have that. ]