She did not want pity. She had never asked for it, never desired it. Hadn't she always hated weakness, despised those who would seek it out? Hadn't she always failed to understand emotion, sweeping hers under the rug and hiding it from the world, a dirty window into her soul that she could not bear to be found? When she looked in the mirror, she had seen strength, and passion, and desire - in other words, she had seen herself as so many others had come to see her, never stopping to question how she had gotten to be that way. She never wondered why she held so much hatred in her heart, never asked what the hornless had done to deserve her wrath. They existed, and that was enough of an answer to justify their eradication. But was it? Or was it simply an answer to hide behind when others sought to scour her soul, to delve into the shallow mind of the Dark Empress and emerge with some semblance of understanding? She had never cared - but that was before.

But even as she stumbled, hornless and self-loathing, into the Marsh, debating the ease of ending her own life (for after all, who would look for her? Who would care if she simply disappeared?), she did not want pity. She could handle anger, and she could handle hatred - hadn't she sown enough in her lifetime to expect it to return to her? - but she could not handle pity. She could not bear to see the look in another's eyes, as though she were a broken creature to be shuffled into her mother's waiting arms, where her tears would be wiped away and her hurts would be soothed. She was fire, she was poison, she was the Crux, for the gods' sakes; she was not a pitiable creature! And perhaps she had stayed out of sight long enough to avoid the feeling. Or perhaps she was only kidding herself.

She studied the stallion on the floor before her in the moments between her words and his response, moments that stretched ever longer as they fell into silence, just as they had so many times before. There was always something to be said between them, always some comment they refused to let out, lest it destroy the precarious peace that they had built for themselves. Even now, even after they had left one another, found one another, betrayed one another and the memory of their greatness - even now, it would seem, they could not put aside those old habits and reach for a stronger, greater tomorrow. She wondered if they would forever be trapped in their shared past, unable or unwilling to attempt to move forward, past all the insecurities and the questions filling the space between them. And, for the first time, she dared to hope.

He accepts her request, and she thinks she hears surprise in his vocals. Is it because she asked before doing? Or is it because she wanted to simply be near him, to catch up as old friends ought to do? She lowered her head, her maw brushing against the soft moss; her knees folded, and she fell gracefully to the ground, sighing with contentment as the cushioning plant beneath her absorbed her weight. It was comfortable here, and easy (so long as she kept to the shadows and avoided those who would have her head). What would happen when they left the caves? Would she go back into hiding, avoiding everyone for fear of disappointing them? Whomever she happened to run into would hate her, wouldn't they? Her former followers would want her blood for deserting them, Illynx most of all when she realized how far the shade had strayed from their beliefs. Those she had haunted all her life would want her blood for those that she had killed. And they would be right. She had done wrong, but she was still the jackal-heart she had always been. She may feel remorse, but she did not want to answer for her crimes.

His answer to her question was not unexpected, but she suspected that it was not the full truth. If he had been better, what was wrong? What had been so wonderful about the past? Did he want to go back? Could he, if he tried? Had he changed as much as she had, or was she simply going to make a fool of herself? She was not angry with him, not for leaving her or failing at his task (look at how much of a mess she had made) or for ignoring her when finally, finally they had found each other again. Perhaps she should have been. Perhaps she would have been, once. But no - she had found him, as she always did, had been invited to stay with him, if only for the moment. She had been given an opportunity to delve into their depths, if only he would follow. If only she would take the plunge.

When she spoke, it was not to ask more questions of him. She sighed, her gaze flickering up to the glowing ceiling. It sparkled in her eyes, setting them a strange, flaming green. "I've made a right mess of things since you've been gone," she told him, refusing to meet his eyes, if he was even looking at her. She fell silent, remembering, half-wishing that she could forget, or go back and change it all, wondering if it was too late for her to be someone else. Wondering if she could be someone else. Would they let her, if she tried? "But I think it's for the best." Again, silence falls, her words echoing in the cavern. They are soft, and smooth, though they do not hold the honeyed poison they once did.

"We've changed, haven't we?"

"Talk talk talk."