black ocean, cold and dark, any

[kensley]

i took the poison praying you'd feel it, too i wrapped my neck and prayed that you'd feel the noose He doesn’t mean to be rude, really. Kensley has never been anything if not polite. But there is some comfort in the silence, too. It is enough sometimes simply to know that you’re not alone. He is content in his – their – silence. Still, he feels no stirring of resentment when she speaks again. He levels her with his steady, brown-eyed stare and tilts his head. He had called Beqanna home once, but he does not recognize her anymore. He had lived for a time in the Chamber before it became something else entirely. He had called it home only because his sister had been there and he’d loved the queen. He had been too passive for it, really. Too soft. He had called this meadow home, too, for the vast majority of it his life. He’d traversed it with his daughter, who he wonders about now but tries not to dwell on. He hopes that she’s happy – or that she was happy. “No,” he says and it’s really that simple. There is no sadness in his tone, although he has mourned for the home he had here once. “I’ve been away a long time,” he adds from someplace far-away, his gaze turned back toward the horizon in the direction of the world he’d come from. The world where he watched his sister die. “What about you?” he asks then, without looking at her. shattered son of jarris and plumeria