Disgust piles into her, the feeling of sickness roaring into her stomach and settling with the harsh style that an ocean uses when the storm rages on and there is no relief. His words sting like bees in her hide. Every part of her begs for her to recoil and find a place to disappear to, hide and never return from what horrors he seems to speak about. Her mind still refuses to release the jailed section of her memory, to let her figure what he is saying and what they're supposed to mean to her. There are no tears to seep from her blues. She's gone ahead and used all that she's got on Amara, and if Sacre wished to throw pain towards her, then let it be so. She lacked the ability to care for his hate, if that is what was, only sweeping it away when the air hung cold between the walls of ice.
"How am I a monster, when my words are ones that show I still care about you? I cannot think of a single moment that I have been a monster, and if there was a time that I was, then my memories have hidden it away along with everything else. Explain, please, if you want, how I became to be 'strange and frightening' like you say I am."
The words are icy as the world around them. She's not hurt, instead pained and sick to her stomach with the feeling of her heart rotting within the confined spaces that her ribs hold in.
"I am no monster that you say I am. I am Sikeax, and I met you when we were still children, and that was the last time I recall ever seeing you. So tell me, what have I been missing, other than memories?"
Her stomach churns more, twisting into knots and leading to even more discomfort. A headache threatens to enter her, to plague her with more of the signs of a spring sickness, if anything. He spoke of someone named Deodat, and fingers grow within her mind and attempt to put a name to a face. She comes out empty-handed and stares to the little animal that stands beside him as if the name is the name of that creature.
Eyes move to bear into his skin, the dark coloured pelt she remembers just too well and one that is now making her hurt on the inside. Beneath, her body shifts and she stands, swaying against her own weight and legs threatening to release from underneath and send her to the floor again. Momentarily, her vision blurs, the different shades of colours that flash before her nothing but bothersome.
The headache kicks in as if it was on cue, ready for the right moment to make the appearance on the stage that the play is set. Oh, if she could vomit, she would of already done so.
All that she has it set towards him when she turns around, coming to face him and seeing that he looks more of a man that she could remember him being. It was time for her to begin counting her days to when she would be full grown, to when she would be able to escape the dark depths of youth and leave to be a new person without the control of adults.
"For whatever I've done to make you look at me like you are, I'm sorry for something I can't remember even doing."
@[Sacre]
If you could hear me then, can you hear me now?