[P] if you don't believe, you better get superstitious -

[Marisol]

WITH SWORD AND SALT -

She regrets it as soon as it comes out of her mouth - the venom and ire of a girl not so much upset as overworked, exhausted so deep into her bones that she cannot find the strength to act human in that long, long moment. 

But the human of her comes back almost instantaneously, an overwhelming feeling of guilt. Her heart rocks in her chest like that of a child’s. And she feels like a child, then, chastised for acting out poorly in public. But she is her own mother, beating down an insubordinate daughter, and to be both the punisher and the punished is a feeling so uniquely weighty and uncomfortable it’s almost worse than the guilt itself, like she’s looking at her reflection through both sides of a funhouse mirror, and she wants to pretend it never happened but the fear in their eyes and the way they lean backward, away from her, says that is not possible.

Evil girl.

I’m sorry, Marisol half-mumbles, almost too quiet to hear, but meets their eyes through dark lashes. Her gaze is soft and kind and unsure and it is so utterly unlike her, to be this soft, but what other apology could be so sincere? I am not injured. Just tired. Tired is not the word, really - exhausted or enervated or something similarly complete and allconsuming would be more accurate, but Marisol has never been one to weep and whine over her own discomforts, and today is no different, though she might shiver a little more than usual against the cold.

Her eyes linger on Ard, watchful and somber. As kind and lovely as Erd is, the Commander cannot disguise that she sees more of herself in the troubled twin, that her heart aches just a little more for him because she has always been inclined to love the things she wants to fix.

Is there anything they can do to help? She turns her sleet-gray eyes to the sky, still rolling with thunder and rain; she watches hail slide from the roofs of their buildings and shatter against the cobblestone; she shivers again, this time a fullbody shudder, and offers them a wan smile. It is a strange slice of moon in a nighttime already too full of light. It’s alright, she answers in a tone hoarse with exhaustion. Helping is the Halcyon’s job, anyway.

---

<3

aimless | kokovi