*"I was there.”*

My breath fell out of my chest, squeezed out of me, brittle and cold against his neck. I couldn’t look at him—but why was I allowing myself to touch him? (Because I was still an infant too helpless to do anything but lay in her own filth). I backed up a step, my eyes razing him over, feverish and searching and mournful that he might have a scar or an injury or something else fucked with him that had nothing to do with purple thistles (but thank god I didn’t see anything on him—he was pristine and he looked a bit rounder than the last time I saw him and I guess he was looking fine--)

But I backed up another step to look him in the eye—to force myself to look him in the eye, even though it was a torture and I wanted to hide from him and the failure I had laid at his feet. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should’ve been there, I should’ve—“ I gasped and shook my head, waving it back and forth as a hot wave of shame started to bubble over my eyes, “I should’ve been there to help you, I should’ve—“

*"I am a monster, Elding.”*

“No, shut up, you’re not,” I said with a broken voice, and I swear I was gonna lose it if I kept looking at him; I tucked my head away, my eyes screwed all the way to the right so they wouldn’t have a chance to even contemplate forming tears. “At least you were there,” I muttered—but it was more like a mewling and I hated myself for it, “At least you were there to fight.”

I clutched at you in my head; I reached for you with crying fingers in my mind, for the glow that sped through you as you flew in the sky, believing yourself a hero. The idea that she was playing with out of a sense of duty simply…flew above your head (snort). You thought it was because she found you as awesome as you found her—and the bubble of admiration swelled in your breast and you’re too young for love but it there was still this puppyish thing going on inside you that made you giddy and flit through the air, a tiny speck of feathers soaring with the greats.

That feeling of euphoria was enough to—well. It at least steadied me and stopped the shaking, and I was glad I didn’t have to depend on Leos’ weight and warmth to keep me grounded. It would’ve felt…awful to touch him again, this piece of trash that didn’t deserve anyone’s touch of any kind that didn’t bring pain with it.

“…I don’t know what to do,” I croaked, the same confession over and over and over again slipping passed my gums and my lips. “Those babies—that woman--how can I…?” My eyes trailed back to Lee—at the way he stood frozen, like he was disgusted, like he was torn with memories of a battle I should have been there to fight--where I should’ve been there to cover his back and beat back the hordes even if it cost us our lives—

“….I really am awful, aren’t I?” But this was a question for me; an answer to the echoes in my head that refused to let me sleep.



"talk"