sunderings: (the things that are)
SION ASTAL. ([personal profile] sunderings) wrote in [community profile] overjoyed_logs 2017-03-31 12:18 am (UTC)

You are not well, Alice.

[ —his voice falls softly, lightly as he edges around something too painful to name, leaving Alice to take the washcloth from his hands; to turn away from him as she cleans the blood from her face, silence lapsing between them. And what a strange thing his quiet is, his footfalls the only sound as words cease to pass between them not because he has been stunned into shock, and not because he is fearful of the anger which burns in the vivid green of Alice's eyes, but because he understands. He knows loss, what it is to be robbed of a decade and more; what it had been to be subject to the control of a faceless many, to have his very being twisted and maligned to suit their needs, and even now--...

He hasn't yet escaped.

But Alice has, and for perhaps the first time in her life, she had fought to protect something (someone) and succeeded. ]


I would know how it is you intend to wash this stain clean from your home. [ —the farthest from accusatory, Sion's is the most soft-spoken sort of question, his expression equal parts gentle and adamant; compassionate and fierce.

One by one, his footsteps take him closer to the body where it lies, and notably, Sion is not deterred by the smell or the gore: ]


Tell me, so that I might know when and where to avert the eyes of the Company, should they fall upon you.

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