Out here where it is relatively quiet it's nice to feel lucid for a moment. Lucid in her thoughts if not in her body, which still feels like the feet of a million ants crawling on a log. But she isn't screaming in the soundproofed silence of Kakapo or feeling the voice of the phone book being read turned into the voice of eight billion raging souls. Still without regrets but knowing what regret there should be, she gets to speak for herself.
That's probably by the world's design, too.]
You'll all play nice with that girl's killer until the alliance no longer suits you. You're only not killers because it suits you.
[Something stops the name on her tongue because she recognizes she doesn't know which one to use, not anymore, sifted through all the sand of Nona's memory.]
[ Is she surprised? "Coeurls don't change their pelts," Waltaquin had said. She's never been dishonest. Psyche knew the risk she was taking in trusting her. In hoping... what? In Medea's words, that she made people want to be like her? In hoping for the echo of Medea, of herself that she sees in Waltaquin?
How... self-important. She balls her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms as if the sting of it will anchor her. It never has. ]
Why?! Why Nona? She was always sweet to everyone. You told me you wouldn't make any foolish moves, but this...
[Waltaquin has never once felt remorse for a death she's caused. She does not even think that's how she feels now. She knows Nona better than anyone now, though, so maybe it is. She feels something. Hunger, maybe. Loneliness.]
I thought she was like me. [It's probably impossible not to draw the comparison between the girl and Waltaquin from the memory shared with Psyche, alone and containing some great unleashable curse.]
... Death is the fuel for necromancy. [And it didn't do anything for her, even if they can parade around Merlin's connections as fuel. It stings.] I thought even if I had just a little more sorcery at my disposal, I could at least try to dosomething!
[Coeurls do not change their pelts, and they do not do well caged.]
[ Who is she even angry at now? Herself, for not seeing? Billy, for being right even as she struggles with how easily everyone else took him back into the group? And what grounds does she have for that, hypocrite, when Waltaquin... ]
Why didn't you ask me?
[ Every week she's been forced to confront how little she can do here. Accept it, pick herself back up. Move forward, move forward. Having to ask herself what she would do if it were someone she loved standing before everyone at the trial. What she would do if this were all a farce, if no one were to blame and the administrators forced them to choose someone.
She never wanted to arrive here like this. ]
It didn't have to be Nona! Do you think I wanted to get out any less desperately than you did?! Do you think I was happier being helpless in front of the administrators than you were?! What now, Waltaquin?!
[Why didn't she ask her, someone who felt so alienated and derided for her powers, someone who could never comprehend what it was like to be hollow before having them? Somehow who'd never understood how good it felt to control life in a speck of dust in the palm of her hand? Someone rightfully loved for her ability to bring the others together instead of standing at their outskirts, suspect, if only because she wasn't going to get hung up doing what she had to do?]
What now?! What a rich fiction! Unless you think I'll kill you now, knowing it would be meaningless! I understand now...not a single one of us means any more than another! [Two pieces of meat sitting on the beach screaming because they don't know what they're trying to express.]
You'll do what Merlin needs and I'll be gone before the end, the only one who saw her for who she really is but the only one worthy of your blame!
[The fever carves a fluid track down her cheek, burning like the blood of that very first priest.
[ Meaningless. Hasn't every death here been meaningless? They were always only for the whims of the people who brought them here — whatever shabby redemption given to them by the idea that they were a sacrifice, that they were protecting the others, was always a lie.
She'd never accepted the idea of a necessary sacrifice in the first place. So how is it somehow worse to know the truth? But it is, it's an emptiness and a pettiness and a pointlessness that gnaws at her until all she wants is to cry and cry until she doesn't have to feel. ]
You're right. None of us means any more than the others. How could we put a value on that? Everyone here mattered.
[ Is that what Merlin was trying to tell her? Is that what he needs from her? She'd finally started understanding herself. The way she loves like desperation, the selfish wish that an echo of that love might find its way back to her.
She lets out a breath that's half a sob and looks over at Waltaquin. She lifts her hand and freezes, as if she still can't decide whether she's going to reach to cup her face, or perhaps slap her. ]
I don't know if I'm strong enough to do what Merlin needs. I don't know what to do right now. I'm so angry. I don't want to carry this secret for you. What good does it do to blame you?! I don't know anything anymore!
[If the dead rise again, not as mindless puppets but as whole recreated versions of themselves, will they embrace Sonya? Will they tell Kanon that she mattered?
In the end it does seem hypocritical, doesn't it? Waltaquin doesn't flinch away from Psyche's hand, tears fresh on her face without an expression to match it. Her head and her heart feel a billion different things.]
I don't care if you carry it for me. [The words are dismissive but the intention behind it, she knows without a doubt now, the violence and kindness of giving Psyche this choice, is loving.] Tell the others if you need to. See if they will still allow me my part in Merlin's gambit. ... I wouldn't have found you so interesting, Psyche, if I ever thought you were too weak.
I want this to be finished. Is this person speaking to you now even myself? [When she closes her eyes there is nothing there but incomprehensible and unspeakable horror. That dark flame that guided her and ate and ate and ate at the altar of souls is going to lose against them. But, she too, is self-important. She will not lie down and die. She will not be caged. She will be reckless until she burns up, like gunpowder, not a star after all.]
[ She's never been able to stand the sight of other people's pain. Eros used his tears as a weapon, but Waltaquin... she's been wrong about Waltaquin. But she knows, with certainty, that this isn't something she could fake. She completes the motion to bring her palm gently to Waltaquin's cheek and wipes those tears with careful fingertips.
She doesn't know what it means; she doubts even Waltaquin does. What a strange burden it must be to carry, from the flicker of what she understands of Waltaquin's emotions from their shared memory. ]
...No. I won't pass it to someone else. I refuse.
[ What would that do to Xiao, to Crea? To Lacus? Knowing how they'd reacted to Nona's death, they all deserve the truth. But if that truth would keep them from seeing this through to the end and bringing everyone back, then what a pointless gesture that would be. Is that sophistry? Or is wanting to run to the others cowardice? She doesn't know. But the sense of resolve in her choice is a near enough substitute for courage.
She draws in a breath again. Slow, steady. Wait. Hope. ]
We're almost there, Waltaquin. Just a little further. What do I need to do, to keep you here?
[She is right about that much, at least. Waltaquin cannot fake sentiment well, and she might have seen it here or there when she pretended to be bothered by something and yet could not contain her delight.
To be forced to cry is invasive but it is genuine. Psyche's hand reaches her cheek and she lets it rest there. To be sorry would be to lie, but she feels something.]
... My necromancy may not be of much use in the coming days. [That seems to make it worse; the memory of a shrieking, bodiless body that wants to eat her heart and peel her skin from her body.] It feels as if too much has been put inside of me. [One horrible eroding scream in a million voices, forever, at the front of her brain.] So, you might find some way to quiet me, somehow.
[After a moment of sitting like this, Waltaquin takes Psyche's hand from her cheek and squeezes it in her own naked one a little too hard. Then she stands and walks a little ways into the ocean, where she can rest out flat. It had been calling.]
The last time we spoke she passed charge of you to my care. If it comes to it, let her reclaim her abdicated role. [She trusts it's clear. If it comes to it, let it be someone like Medea. Not Crea, who would make her feel so empty. Not someone like Wei Wuxian, who could have been her.]
[ One step at a time. She watches Waltaquin's expression with a strange sense of serenity settling over her again. Even she doesn't know if she's just been hollowed out, or if this is peace, but the crushing pressure has finally eased its grip on her throat.
She has direction. She can do this. She gives Waltaquin a little nod. ]
I don't know that I'm precise enough with my healing for that. I can try. Otherwise... I may have to ask Doctor Baizhu. I can think of a reasonable excuse.
[ Really, if Baizhu has something that would settle nerves, it would hardly need to be excused at this point. Psyche squeezes Waltaquin's fingers in hers briefly — and when Waltaquin pulls away, she lets her go easily.
Practice already, perhaps.
But she gets to her feet to follow unhurriedly, staring out at the ocean and Waltaquin, adrift. It's the only conversation she'd ever had with Nona, isn't it? That she loved the ocean. She kicks off her sandals and walks into the waves, knowing it for an empty gesture even as she does it. But empty doesn't mean pointless. With a quiet sigh she lets herself fall back to float near Waltaquin. Not touching, though in her imagination, the ripple of the waves carries something intangible between them. ]
...Her, and not me? [ Is it even possible that there's a smile in her voice now? Even she couldn't explain it, any more than Waltaquin could explain the earlier tears. ] I promise. And... I think she'll understand.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[She gives Psyche more credit than that, too.
Out here where it is relatively quiet it's nice to feel lucid for a moment. Lucid in her thoughts if not in her body, which still feels like the feet of a million ants crawling on a log. But she isn't screaming in the soundproofed silence of Kakapo or feeling the voice of the phone book being read turned into the voice of eight billion raging souls. Still without regrets but knowing what regret there should be, she gets to speak for herself.
That's probably by the world's design, too.]
You'll all play nice with that girl's killer until the alliance no longer suits you. You're only not killers because it suits you.
[Something stops the name on her tongue because she recognizes she doesn't know which one to use, not anymore, sifted through all the sand of Nona's memory.]
no subject
How... self-important. She balls her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms as if the sting of it will anchor her. It never has. ]
Why?! Why Nona? She was always sweet to everyone. You told me you wouldn't make any foolish moves, but this...
no subject
I thought she was like me. [It's probably impossible not to draw the comparison between the girl and Waltaquin from the memory shared with Psyche, alone and containing some great unleashable curse.]
... Death is the fuel for necromancy. [And it didn't do anything for her, even if they can parade around Merlin's connections as fuel. It stings.] I thought even if I had just a little more sorcery at my disposal, I could at least try to do something!
[Coeurls do not change their pelts, and they do not do well caged.]
cw: borderline suicidal ideation
Why didn't you ask me?
[ Every week she's been forced to confront how little she can do here. Accept it, pick herself back up. Move forward, move forward. Having to ask herself what she would do if it were someone she loved standing before everyone at the trial. What she would do if this were all a farce, if no one were to blame and the administrators forced them to choose someone.
She never wanted to arrive here like this. ]
It didn't have to be Nona! Do you think I wanted to get out any less desperately than you did?! Do you think I was happier being helpless in front of the administrators than you were?! What now, Waltaquin?!
no subject
What now?! What a rich fiction! Unless you think I'll kill you now, knowing it would be meaningless! I understand now...not a single one of us means any more than another! [Two pieces of meat sitting on the beach screaming because they don't know what they're trying to express.]
You'll do what Merlin needs and I'll be gone before the end, the only one who saw her for who she really is but the only one worthy of your blame!
[The fever carves a fluid track down her cheek, burning like the blood of that very first priest.
It isn't blood.
She doesn't even know what's causing it.]
no subject
She'd never accepted the idea of a necessary sacrifice in the first place. So how is it somehow worse to know the truth? But it is, it's an emptiness and a pettiness and a pointlessness that gnaws at her until all she wants is to cry and cry until she doesn't have to feel. ]
You're right. None of us means any more than the others. How could we put a value on that? Everyone here mattered.
[ Is that what Merlin was trying to tell her? Is that what he needs from her? She'd finally started understanding herself. The way she loves like desperation, the selfish wish that an echo of that love might find its way back to her.
She lets out a breath that's half a sob and looks over at Waltaquin. She lifts her hand and freezes, as if she still can't decide whether she's going to reach to cup her face, or perhaps slap her. ]
I don't know if I'm strong enough to do what Merlin needs. I don't know what to do right now. I'm so angry. I don't want to carry this secret for you. What good does it do to blame you?! I don't know anything anymore!
no subject
In the end it does seem hypocritical, doesn't it? Waltaquin doesn't flinch away from Psyche's hand, tears fresh on her face without an expression to match it. Her head and her heart feel a billion different things.]
I don't care if you carry it for me. [The words are dismissive but the intention behind it, she knows without a doubt now, the violence and kindness of giving Psyche this choice, is loving.] Tell the others if you need to. See if they will still allow me my part in Merlin's gambit. ... I wouldn't have found you so interesting, Psyche, if I ever thought you were too weak.
I want this to be finished. Is this person speaking to you now even myself? [When she closes her eyes there is nothing there but incomprehensible and unspeakable horror. That dark flame that guided her and ate and ate and ate at the altar of souls is going to lose against them. But, she too, is self-important. She will not lie down and die. She will not be caged. She will be reckless until she burns up, like gunpowder, not a star after all.]
no subject
She doesn't know what it means; she doubts even Waltaquin does. What a strange burden it must be to carry, from the flicker of what she understands of Waltaquin's emotions from their shared memory. ]
...No. I won't pass it to someone else. I refuse.
[ What would that do to Xiao, to Crea? To Lacus? Knowing how they'd reacted to Nona's death, they all deserve the truth. But if that truth would keep them from seeing this through to the end and bringing everyone back, then what a pointless gesture that would be. Is that sophistry? Or is wanting to run to the others cowardice? She doesn't know. But the sense of resolve in her choice is a near enough substitute for courage.
She draws in a breath again. Slow, steady. Wait. Hope. ]
We're almost there, Waltaquin. Just a little further. What do I need to do, to keep you here?
no subject
To be forced to cry is invasive but it is genuine. Psyche's hand reaches her cheek and she lets it rest there. To be sorry would be to lie, but she feels something.]
... My necromancy may not be of much use in the coming days. [That seems to make it worse; the memory of a shrieking, bodiless body that wants to eat her heart and peel her skin from her body.] It feels as if too much has been put inside of me. [One horrible eroding scream in a million voices, forever, at the front of her brain.] So, you might find some way to quiet me, somehow.
[After a moment of sitting like this, Waltaquin takes Psyche's hand from her cheek and squeezes it in her own naked one a little too hard. Then she stands and walks a little ways into the ocean, where she can rest out flat. It had been calling.]
The last time we spoke she passed charge of you to my care. If it comes to it, let her reclaim her abdicated role. [She trusts it's clear. If it comes to it, let it be someone like Medea. Not Crea, who would make her feel so empty. Not someone like Wei Wuxian, who could have been her.]
no subject
She has direction. She can do this. She gives Waltaquin a little nod. ]
I don't know that I'm precise enough with my healing for that. I can try. Otherwise... I may have to ask Doctor Baizhu. I can think of a reasonable excuse.
[ Really, if Baizhu has something that would settle nerves, it would hardly need to be excused at this point. Psyche squeezes Waltaquin's fingers in hers briefly — and when Waltaquin pulls away, she lets her go easily.
Practice already, perhaps.
But she gets to her feet to follow unhurriedly, staring out at the ocean and Waltaquin, adrift. It's the only conversation she'd ever had with Nona, isn't it? That she loved the ocean. She kicks off her sandals and walks into the waves, knowing it for an empty gesture even as she does it. But empty doesn't mean pointless. With a quiet sigh she lets herself fall back to float near Waltaquin. Not touching, though in her imagination, the ripple of the waves carries something intangible between them. ]
...Her, and not me? [ Is it even possible that there's a smile in her voice now? Even she couldn't explain it, any more than Waltaquin could explain the earlier tears. ] I promise. And... I think she'll understand.