[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
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.