In this moment, Eik learns that tear are born in the heart. He can feel them there bubbling, gasping, straining for release from the great unknowable weight forced upon them. And then they slowly make their way to the surface, the sobs so quiet he might not have even heard them at all if the canyon was not silent as a tomb.
It was selfish to embrace her like this. He suspected it as he drew closer, as she looked at him with pleading eyes to stay away, please, don’t make me– but he could not stay away, not when he believed for so long that she was dead. He mourned her. But Eik knows the length of his selfishness now, the cruelty, with her body stiffly pressed to him like a plastic doll, as the sobs begin to shudder through her. He is dumbly silent, unsure if there is anything he can do right now other than offer, quite literally, a shoulder to cry on. He wants to apologize, again, and he is about to when she asks- “why are you sorry?” in a voice he does not recognize. The question shocks him.
Why was he sorry??
… Did she really not understand?
A strange bitterness lodges in his chest. It was admittedly an unfair thing to feel, but there it was, dark-skinned and hardy as a seed that will wait centuries to sprout. He draws away, faces the canyon wall and its rich hues of umber, saffron, gold.
Eik should have found and killed Raum the first time he threatened Isra. And again in the cave on the mountain. He– they– had been so close then! So close to ending everything before it spiraled deeper and darker, prisoner to its own momentum.
But Eik’s sorrow was so much deeper than his failings. Although he was not born and raised here, and on paper his vocation did not saddle him with as much responsibility as she, and for all the other reasons that make him less than her– less responsible, less capable, less Solterran–
(at this point he’s pacing in the shadowed canyon, small circles that echo his eddying thoughts)
This place was his home. Did he need more reason than that to be sorry? To feel culpable?
This place was his home and he had a beautiful dream, and now all he has to show for it is– this. This terrible taste on his tongue. This bitter seed in his chest. But Eik doesn’t say anything. He could not describe it in a way that would make it matter– which was surely just as good as saying it didn’t matter. So why not say nothing at all?
“This isn’t your fault.”
He seethes, a dark ocean roiling behind his eyes. “Neither is it yours.” It doesn’t mean they couldn’t (wouldn’t) feel sorry. Guilty. Loss was never sensible. He had to tell her anyway. “Look, you’re not broken.” No matter that she’s making sounds he’s never heard her make before, or the dramatic scar that reshapes her face– she is not broken– “And Raum is not going to survive us.”
It was fooldhardy to be sentimental with Seraphina. So he swallows his heart, that weak thing which only ever wanted to spill its grief until it was empty. "We have a lot of work to do."
E I K
never trust the storyteller
It was selfish to embrace her like this. He suspected it as he drew closer, as she looked at him with pleading eyes to stay away, please, don’t make me– but he could not stay away, not when he believed for so long that she was dead. He mourned her. But Eik knows the length of his selfishness now, the cruelty, with her body stiffly pressed to him like a plastic doll, as the sobs begin to shudder through her. He is dumbly silent, unsure if there is anything he can do right now other than offer, quite literally, a shoulder to cry on. He wants to apologize, again, and he is about to when she asks- “why are you sorry?” in a voice he does not recognize. The question shocks him.
Why was he sorry??
… Did she really not understand?
A strange bitterness lodges in his chest. It was admittedly an unfair thing to feel, but there it was, dark-skinned and hardy as a seed that will wait centuries to sprout. He draws away, faces the canyon wall and its rich hues of umber, saffron, gold.
Eik should have found and killed Raum the first time he threatened Isra. And again in the cave on the mountain. He– they– had been so close then! So close to ending everything before it spiraled deeper and darker, prisoner to its own momentum.
But Eik’s sorrow was so much deeper than his failings. Although he was not born and raised here, and on paper his vocation did not saddle him with as much responsibility as she, and for all the other reasons that make him less than her– less responsible, less capable, less Solterran–
(at this point he’s pacing in the shadowed canyon, small circles that echo his eddying thoughts)
This place was his home. Did he need more reason than that to be sorry? To feel culpable?
This place was his home and he had a beautiful dream, and now all he has to show for it is– this. This terrible taste on his tongue. This bitter seed in his chest. But Eik doesn’t say anything. He could not describe it in a way that would make it matter– which was surely just as good as saying it didn’t matter. So why not say nothing at all?
“This isn’t your fault.”
He seethes, a dark ocean roiling behind his eyes. “Neither is it yours.” It doesn’t mean they couldn’t (wouldn’t) feel sorry. Guilty. Loss was never sensible. He had to tell her anyway. “Look, you’re not broken.” No matter that she’s making sounds he’s never heard her make before, or the dramatic scar that reshapes her face– she is not broken– “And Raum is not going to survive us.”
It was fooldhardy to be sentimental with Seraphina. So he swallows his heart, that weak thing which only ever wanted to spill its grief until it was empty. "We have a lot of work to do."
never trust the storyteller
@
Time makes fools of us all
