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[ There is no longer the warmth of someone beside her when she rises, no arm around her, no shoulder for her head to be tucked into, no quiet breath she can hear, no soft rhythm of a heartbeat she can feel beneath her palm, no trace of a magic and light that feels as if she's bathed in the stars. There is no greeting with soft, quiet eyes and and an even softer touch, careful, caring, no murmur of her name. No feeling of acceptance, no slow rise thereafter, no touch in return to correct a strand of her hair with warm fingers lingering upon her cheek.
Instead there is emptiness as deep and overwhelming as the sea, perplexing, disorienting, storming, and cold. She peers into its maelstrom and knows that she ought to be there beneath it all, surrounding her, sealing her. That is the tomb she had chosen for herself for centuries, after all, basking in the safety of emptiness thus keeping the world safe in turn. How can emptiness feel so heavy and crippling, as if she's never experienced it before? Has she learned nothing?
No, she has learned something. It is the same lesson she has learned before-- ]
For those of his family and Eos, and for those of you who knew him, Somnus is no longer in Havenwell. I may only hope that he has returned to his homeworld in peace.
Please, let's all work together more to restore this world, so that perhaps those of us who wish to return to our worlds may also have the opportunity to return.
[ --that she must do what is necessary to secure the future of her world. She must return to her world. To return where she must be, to return to the state she had originally been in, to return to her Father and beg him for peace at last. Somnus has returned to his world, thereby ensuring its future. She has not forgotten that she, too, has the very same duty. Her love and her loss, this hollowness, this numbness-- she knows, she knows, it is painful, guilty; she ought not harbor any of these feelings. Yet terribly against her nature as it may be to experience emotions at all, they have one use in their turmoil and admiration for the world and all those in it: that they are reminding her, inspiring her to do what must be done to ensure that the future of her world remains. ]
A: Falconing. Morning.
He's gone, little partner. We are sorry. [ It's only Horus to whom she murmurs, the falcon unwittingly left behind by man who owned it. Presently the raptor is perched upon her arm, and she carefully strokes along the side of its neck as it turns its head side to side, seemingly awaiting a command. With a slight lift of her hand it takes flight, and a few moments later she tosses up bait for it to take.
To anyone watching her, she appears at peace. She is smiling and calm, watching the bird glide throughout the dilapidated buildings of the city. It circles her, awaiting its next morsel, and she throws another treat-- farther this time, and it dives after it.
It does not seem as if she notices that you may be approaching her. This may be odd to those who know her well enough to have noticed how normally attentive she is to her surroundings. ]
B: Returning from the Labs, Evening
[ For those of her who have known her throughout these months, they may also know by now that she is not shy to engage in contact.
Nothing has changed on that front, and so when you happen to join her on one of the streets, she will greet you with a pleasant, serene smile. As is also typical. ] Oh, are you heading this same way...?
[ Have a hand offered to you, fingers outstretched. Should you take it, her grip is light. To those who have taken her hand often before, this may seem odd. ] Let's walk together.
Instead there is emptiness as deep and overwhelming as the sea, perplexing, disorienting, storming, and cold. She peers into its maelstrom and knows that she ought to be there beneath it all, surrounding her, sealing her. That is the tomb she had chosen for herself for centuries, after all, basking in the safety of emptiness thus keeping the world safe in turn. How can emptiness feel so heavy and crippling, as if she's never experienced it before? Has she learned nothing?
No, she has learned something. It is the same lesson she has learned before-- ]
For those of his family and Eos, and for those of you who knew him, Somnus is no longer in Havenwell. I may only hope that he has returned to his homeworld in peace.
Please, let's all work together more to restore this world, so that perhaps those of us who wish to return to our worlds may also have the opportunity to return.
[ --that she must do what is necessary to secure the future of her world. She must return to her world. To return where she must be, to return to the state she had originally been in, to return to her Father and beg him for peace at last. Somnus has returned to his world, thereby ensuring its future. She has not forgotten that she, too, has the very same duty. Her love and her loss, this hollowness, this numbness-- she knows, she knows, it is painful, guilty; she ought not harbor any of these feelings. Yet terribly against her nature as it may be to experience emotions at all, they have one use in their turmoil and admiration for the world and all those in it: that they are reminding her, inspiring her to do what must be done to ensure that the future of her world remains. ]
A: Falconing. Morning.
He's gone, little partner. We are sorry. [ It's only Horus to whom she murmurs, the falcon unwittingly left behind by man who owned it. Presently the raptor is perched upon her arm, and she carefully strokes along the side of its neck as it turns its head side to side, seemingly awaiting a command. With a slight lift of her hand it takes flight, and a few moments later she tosses up bait for it to take.
To anyone watching her, she appears at peace. She is smiling and calm, watching the bird glide throughout the dilapidated buildings of the city. It circles her, awaiting its next morsel, and she throws another treat-- farther this time, and it dives after it.
It does not seem as if she notices that you may be approaching her. This may be odd to those who know her well enough to have noticed how normally attentive she is to her surroundings. ]
B: Returning from the Labs, Evening
[ For those of her who have known her throughout these months, they may also know by now that she is not shy to engage in contact.
Nothing has changed on that front, and so when you happen to join her on one of the streets, she will greet you with a pleasant, serene smile. As is also typical. ] Oh, are you heading this same way...?
[ Have a hand offered to you, fingers outstretched. Should you take it, her grip is light. To those who have taken her hand often before, this may seem odd. ] Let's walk together.
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That... was not my reason. I know you meant well, by it. It is only...
[ She gestures with her free hand around them, before bringing it back toward her. ]
I have... spoken to you once before, of the very reasons I cannot.... accept that sort of compliment in this very place.
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Somnus did this. Ah, too much? she had asked of him, often, fearing that what she said was weighing upon him in ways she might not understand. They weren’t, as it turns out. He appreciated her words; there were other circumstances which had made him steadily grow more silent and withdrawn over the course of his time here.
...
Still, the fear is there that she may overwhelm others. Or that others may fall silent, just like him.
Her lips purse. ]
Do not... be afraid to say what you feel. [ She attempts to encourage her, gently. ] I—.... know I’m sentimental. But I can handle it, I promise. [ She’d rather be upset than not know what Honerva is feeling at all. ]
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[ Especially as one who does not emote particularly well. Here Pyra was looking to her for confirmation and guidance, and now she was worried about her own overstepping, when it was Honerva who had stepped poorly.
Such cycles were these, but she had come here to help her, not upset her. ]
I... did not wish for us to argue over whether the heart I have is truly... "good" or not, as much as I appreciate your ability to have this... unwavering sentiment toward others. Even when faced with a loss.
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And that's part of the problem isn't the problem here, she believes. It's as if Honerva thinks that what Pyra is going through-- this loss-- is somehow... more important than how Honerva feels. ]
...Stop that.
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... Was something unclear?
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Me-- losing... [ A breath. ] Somnus. [ Another pause follows. ] That doesn't override what you feel.
[ It had happened just in this very conversation, too. Honerva had attempted to distract her, but the subject had gotten too personal. As it is, Honerva is terrible at comforting her since Honerva appears to value herself so little. How can Pyra ever accept such comfort or distraction from her, knowing that it might put Honerva down? Or that she'll have to attempt to read her tells to know when it might be hurting her?
She's not like that! Or at least, she's trying not to be like that. Hurting others-- she fears it. She loathes it. She knows she's capable of it. She's still hurting others, and she will continue to do so into the future. "No other way" or not, it's a thing that must be done. She knows she's cruel, but she's attempting to do what she can to minimize how much pain she does cause.
She seems shaken.
Knowing others are hurting because of her, or that they're willing to hurt for her just so that she might feel better... it's even worse. It's awful. It's like knowing that her smiles and hugs are actually spears through another's chest. ] And if you think the answer is to conceal more or be better at hiding your pain--...
You're wrong.
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It had seemed... the right thing to do, but perhaps it was not. Perhaps she had simply made things worse for her now, because she was still all too clumsy with her own emotions and bearing. This was not supposed to be about her at all. ]
I do not... understand.
[ She says, her tone soft. ]
This... what you are going through, Pyra, has nothing to do with what I am -- enduring. I have long been the cause of enough pain for others. However, if your belief is... that this is the wrong answer, then what is it, that would... aid you now?
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”I have long been the cause of enough pain for others.”
There she goes again, putting herself lower than another. It’s like she doesn’t even realize that she’s doing it, the mentality insidiously natural. The silver lining is that Pyra can only be thankful that she might hear this, that Honerva doesn’t keep it all inside. It’s terrible either way. Steadying herself, she closes her eyes and draws a breath she doesn’t need to take. ]
Honerva.... [ She looks at her sympathetically, stepping forward. ] I can’t bear to accept your help when you harm yourself in the process.
[ Support, comfort— yes, she needs it. She needs it more than she even knows herself, stubbornly pushing forward. But she doesn’t need it when the one giving it hurts themselves. Honerva has to learn how to give aid without sacrificing her own well being. Otherwise what is the point? She deserves better than giving comfort to someone when it harms her. ]
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Perhaps she has always misunderstood. She has had much to overcome, but in part of what drives her is to step far away from what she has been. Sacrifice is ingrained in her; from her nature as an altean, even during those dark years in service to her lord. Were she to focus fully on herself she may not have had any cause to respond at all. The initial message had been plain, not even intended for her; it was only a statement, a way for Pyra to reaffirm her own beliefs in their cause toward this world, and alert others who may have been distressed at the notice of such a loss.
But for one who spoke so much of focusing on another, Pyra once more continued to lessen the focus on her own self. Did she not think, that Honerva could not see what she was doing? She'd asked after her almost immediately. Unfair, she had said. ]
... I do not feel that it is harming myself, to not add on to your burden in this situation. However... what would you consider fair? You have only asked for a hand and little more. It is not nearly enough.
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Pyra considers this: if Honerva says that of herself, doesn’t that also make whatever Pyra may admit to her also a burden to her in return?
Quietly, ]
Is... that what you think? One’s troubles... your troubles are burdens to others... ?
[ Pyra would never consider what Honerva says to her a burden, if she tells her anything at all. But that “if” makes what Honerva says a privilege, not at all some sort of weight upon her shoulders. ]
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[ '... Is that I am not very good at this.' Her words trail off, gaze flicking briefly toward their surroundings, before offering Pyra another gentle squeeze of her hand.
She does not regret... offering, but Pyra deserved better than this, than someone who could not even set aside her problems enough to be able to support another without them getting in the way. But how could she learn to support others without making the attempt to do so at all? Failure was familiar, cold. ]
... is that our troubles... are burdens, to ourselves. They are complex, but can... coexist. We carry them, shift them, set them aside when it is necessary to do so. The difficulty is in... the sharing. They are... perhaps better shared than kept alone, but... it is not so easy, to make it so far, and not have concern about... the one being shared with.
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Moreover, what right does she have to say anything at all. ]
For what it is worth, hearing of your troubles are never burdens to me when you share them.
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[ Because Pyra is kind, and there are no bounds to that. ]
But if all I ever do is share my troubles with you... I cannot help but become more aware of how, you too, have your own cares, that you feel you must set aside. You are more than someone who hears another's burdens.
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She hears many woes and plights in this place, from all different worlds and different people. Many easily share them with but a few questions; she’s in awe, often, of how easily some share. It’s wonderful that they do: it shows how strong they are, she believes. Although she does become sentimental when hearing them, none of these are burdens.
In contrast, Pyra is a coward, and she fears.
She only smiles grimly at Honerva, not saying anything in response. ]
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Her hand is still kept within hers, though, as she considers and when she speaks again, her tone is much lighter. ]
... Nothing to say? I know you would not wish for me to draw my own conclusion with your silence.
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Her conclusions are her own; to what end do they matter? She lets those in her own world think what they wish of her, call her what they want, dub her what they want, even if she is not. For the sake of preserving the future, Pyra doesn’t plan to be long for this world or her own anyway.
She can only offer this, ]
I’m sorry.
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Or perhaps, it is but a signal that Honerva should try better, to say what she feels. ]
... You need not apologize to me, Pyra.
[ She's not finished there. Tone still soft, bringing her free hand up to her chest again, she continues. ]
But... please understand, that I do mean what I say. Someone you have cared for has... vanished. Even if his return may have been a desired result, that is still... a loss of a bond you have shared, in this world. Perhaps that is not what weighs most upon you, for all you may carry, but I cannot convince myself that it does not.
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Honerva cares. She knows this, she's said it-- that very same care is what makes Honerva so good in Pyra's eyes. A burden, Honerva had said. A burden. Is that what this will become to her? ]
What I say here...
I say in confidence.
[ Her thumb ghosts over Honerva's palm, remaining silent for a few moments more, and then: ] But... promise me one thing. [ She closes her eyes again, unable to bear witness how her hand fits in hers. This shouldn't have ever been possible, yet here she is, holding someone's hand, someone with home she has also created a bond. ] ...That this.. That you won't use this as reason to think I'm not capable of caring for you, too, or being confined in. [ In other words, that this won't burden her-- won't change what they have here. ]
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Perhaps there is some irony, to them being here once more in Rawna's temple. For Pyra to speak now is not guided by any compulsion, and they were not as near strangers now as they had been then. There was something else, in her tone too. Was she... afraid, that she might be judged for what she would say? That it would make her less capable than it has been all this time, when she spent all that time trying to convince her otherwise? On top of that, she already knew so many of Honerva's struggles. ]
... What you say here, I will not say to anyone else.
[ That is her promise; Pyra had said those words to her once, several months earlier, somewhere very near this very place. Pyra worries about being seen as less, for what she may say, and that resonates. Perhaps she may feel more protective toward her, as she is wont to do for those she cares for, but it does not mean she would intentionally think less of her. Just need a gentle nudge, if she slips. ]
But know this, Pyra... that anything you do say would not make you less capable, to me. And if my words or actions have... contributed to that fear, then you have my apologies.
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Pyra doesn't not reply at first, her mind swimming with thoughts that threaten to overwhelm. They clash with each other like thunder, dueling even now between speaking and remaining silent. It feels like a war, arduous and painful, taxing, grueling, simmering down to ash from which nothing may arise.
Her lips part, and then finally she speaks with emotion that eclipses any smile she's given thus far-- and perhaps will give in the foreseeable future. ]
There was no one else like him.
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All she can do is continue to hold her hand, giving it another careful squeeze.
Though here, she was uncertain. It had taken so long for Pyra to be willing to speak in the first place. She did not want to talk over her, but she knew at times coaxing might be needed, to help guide her in her unease. ]
... In what way?
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About how he valued that future above himself and his family and his kingdom despite his love for it all, wanting to preserve the future for the world itself. How he was careful and not reckless, how humble he was, how good he was.
About how he.... suffered in Havenwell, and she did only what she could to help him. A few times he returned injured. More times he returned as a shadow of himself, in an emotionless stupor where it was all he could do to take her hand in silence, but hold her hand he did. How he denied himself many things. How despite what she had with him, she had watched him become more and more withdrawn as the months wore on, and for all the times he did open up, later he would take a few more steps back. Throughout it all, he held her hand... and more.
About how it had been like this up until his final two months with her, and something finally gave within him. He had collapsed to her, just as she had fallen. Understanding, acceptance, and a hope for the future greater than either of themselves and others: they shared these things from the beginning. He had listened to her talk about stars, he had spoken of his hope for the future, he had cared, he had held her as if-- as if she was someone.
How he had made her better, how he had grounded her in the present, how he had reminded her of the future, how she saw the stars in him and wanted whatever he wished for, how for one fleeting moment she almost considered granting those wishes for him, making whatever future he wished for a reality-- ]
Blinding.
[ The single word comes chokes out. Her hand is trembling. ]
He was... blinding.
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Honerva did not know Somnus, not nearly enough to draw a true opinion of him; he had seemed focused, almost purposed, somewhat like herself in a way. He had seemed intent to know more about her researching and had suggested that she not do such things on her own, perhaps wanting her to draw her own conclusions on what he had meant by that.
And yet. Blinding, Pyra said. What a word. Perhaps she was in awe of him, he must have surprised her every day with something that no one else here could do. Or would do. They lived together. Something more than convenience.
She feels that tremble, and understands, words are not enough. Even a hand hold is not. Not for someone who has always been so kind, even if she claimed it was at no expense to her own self. Someone who was unwilling to share because she was fearful it would change the way she was seen or treated by others. Perhaps a change, but not in the way she fears.
Lightly, Honerva draws Pyra closer to her, bringing her own free hand around to draw her into an embrace, gently smoothing down her hair at the back of her head, before simply... holding her close. She could offer her this. ]
Like the stars.
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When Mythra had constructed her, it had been during a time of great strain and grief. She had taken what she had grown to value in others, what she admired in them and wanted to adopt, and had woven them into this new sense of self-- all with a hope of being weaker and better than she had been. From Jin she had admired his compassion, from Lora she had admired courage, ...from Addam she had coveted his sincere goodness, and finally from her experience, she had discovered a love for the world and its people. It had been a turbulent time, but if Mythra had known Somnus back then.... Hope, she supposes. She would have admired his hope, the way he moved forward because of that hope.
Like the stars, yes, but also more.
He chose the world and the future above all; over himself, over his family, over wants and suffering, over guilt and pain.
She hopes he finds rest. She hopes the future he envisioned and for which he has suffered will come to pass. She hopes that he will know peace. The legacy he left for her had been a hope for moving forward. She cannot, must not, forget this; and she hasn't. It's for those like him, her love and admiration for those like him, that remind her every day that she, too, must move forward. For if there is a chance that there may be others who reflect even an iota of his traits, she absolutely must preserve the future for them. For those that will come after, she will sacrifice all.
But for now, she mourns-- selfish, how selfish of her, for wishing that she could have had more time with someone as beautiful a soul as him... To have held him, to have spoken with him more, to have shared with him more and more, to have heard his voice, to have felt his warmth, to have told him over and over again how easy it was to love him.
She says none of this, but Honerva will feel the weight of her sorrow as Pyra leans against her, and she'll feel it as well, as Pyra's shoulder shake with a breath and her tears finally fall. ]
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Long needed, it seemed; if Pyra were truly holding them back for so long, from herself and perhaps even from others who had potentially reached out to her. She who was so sentimental to shed tears for others, but not when she was the one suffering from loss. Even if there was no future in it, it had still been a connection to her present, someone she had loved, and now here the time was left to only mourn what she had spent with him.
However it may have been between them, the shock and pain of having it ripped away...
For the moment, she allows the silence to reign, but she does not pull away. She remains close in their hold, supporting; sometimes holding firm, or otherwise gently rubbing small circular motions onto Pyra's back. Then, much softer, she offers: ]
... Stay, as long as you want.
[ 'Need' was the intention, but perhaps Pyra may not think she needs this at all. In the end she is certain it would not be long enough, but she has no plans to be anywhere else for a while, when it was her choice to come here. And... try, even if she could not do enough, was just not capable enough. Loss was powerful, she knew that well enough. ]
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