[ There was a time barely a moment ago, as Mercymorn measures the horrible endlessness of time, that she would have torn herself away from that terrible anger in a molten gush of panic. It still kindles in her now, lighting spitfires in her glands, in the knot of the brain stem, but the trick of not running here is simple. It's why she follows Alecto to the floor, curling up as a much smaller mirror, heedless of the gruesome murk.
It's good to lie down. It's good to rest, finally, if only for a little while, if only like this.
She does not turn a sodden hair at Alecto's confession of fear, as laughable as it should be to imagine her afraid of anything. Mercy has had a long time to learn about fear since the last time they met.
There was a time - not the last time, but before it - she had seen Alecto lie down like this in the surf, side by side with her smiling cavalier. They had flowers in their hair, or at least her cavalier had, Alecto's more about the mouth, tongue-deep in a pink blossom, and her cavalier -
They're very close, like this. Mercy's breath stirs the blood's surface. Alecto's tears hiss on it. Mercy's hand creeps out, bit by bit, to cover her hand. ]
I'm sorry.
[ And she is, all at once, in a rush more horrid than fear. It wracks her whole body, brings freshened tears to her eyes, softer with guilt. ]
I am. [ She insists, or protests, or some muddle of the two. ] I am sorry, and it's no good, is it? Sorry and afraid and no good.
cw: blood, dysfunctional relationships, reference to past violation of bodily autonomy
It's good to lie down. It's good to rest, finally, if only for a little while, if only like this.
She does not turn a sodden hair at Alecto's confession of fear, as laughable as it should be to imagine her afraid of anything. Mercy has had a long time to learn about fear since the last time they met.
There was a time - not the last time, but before it - she had seen Alecto lie down like this in the surf, side by side with her smiling cavalier. They had flowers in their hair, or at least her cavalier had, Alecto's more about the mouth, tongue-deep in a pink blossom, and her cavalier -
They're very close, like this. Mercy's breath stirs the blood's surface. Alecto's tears hiss on it. Mercy's hand creeps out, bit by bit, to cover her hand. ]
I'm sorry.
[ And she is, all at once, in a rush more horrid than fear. It wracks her whole body, brings freshened tears to her eyes, softer with guilt. ]
I am. [ She insists, or protests, or some muddle of the two. ] I am sorry, and it's no good, is it? Sorry and afraid and no good.