01-17-2020, 02:48 AM
she fell for the idea of him
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
It almost feels wrong, to be having a conversation that is so normal. Like she is an imposter, and pretending to be someone – something – that she is not. Agetta is sweet, and gives her laughter and compliments easily, and Ryatah finds herself wondering if it’s real. She feels like maybe she can see straight through this haphazard disguise, beyond the angelic exterior and to the wretched creature that lurks beneath – the one that looks the other way when awful things are happening, the one that takes things like love and reduces it to dust.
Maybe the smiles and the compliments were just a ruse, she thinks, a way for Agetta to fake it through a conversation with an undeserving angel. It would have been easy to let those thoughts spiral, until she had convinced herself that this single shred of normalcy was just as fabricated as everything else.
Agetta is not like the rest of them, she reminds herself, and she pulls herself out of the darkness she had been subconsciously crafting for herself.
For once, she thinks, she can just let herself have something nice; something genuine that she will not break, something that does not require her to sacrifice so much of herself.
When she asks about who she had sought in the afterlife, her face does not give away to how her heart clenches inside of her chest. The darkness of her eyes flicker just briefly, the only sign that she had even registered what Agetta had asked, but inwardly a torrent of thoughts and emotions flood her. The surface of her remains impassive, lending nothing to the turmoil that churns in the deepest part of her chest when she thinks of Dhumin. “No,” she finally says, with a melancholy smile. “He chose not to come. Not with me, at least. I don’t know. Maybe he left later and I didn’t notice.” Her gaze turns to her companion, her tone still a forced kind of light when she adds, “He was always good at that.” At leaving, without her, and then returning as though nothing had happened. He had taught her that, too – how to leave, and how to handle being left. How to be left over and over again and not crumble even if they took a small piece of her everytime they did it.
“You seem happy, so, I assume your outcome was brighter than mine,” she says, genuine and uncondescending. She has never been the kind to be bitter at another’s happiness; her sorrows were almost always of her own doing.
Maybe the smiles and the compliments were just a ruse, she thinks, a way for Agetta to fake it through a conversation with an undeserving angel. It would have been easy to let those thoughts spiral, until she had convinced herself that this single shred of normalcy was just as fabricated as everything else.
Agetta is not like the rest of them, she reminds herself, and she pulls herself out of the darkness she had been subconsciously crafting for herself.
For once, she thinks, she can just let herself have something nice; something genuine that she will not break, something that does not require her to sacrifice so much of herself.
When she asks about who she had sought in the afterlife, her face does not give away to how her heart clenches inside of her chest. The darkness of her eyes flicker just briefly, the only sign that she had even registered what Agetta had asked, but inwardly a torrent of thoughts and emotions flood her. The surface of her remains impassive, lending nothing to the turmoil that churns in the deepest part of her chest when she thinks of Dhumin. “No,” she finally says, with a melancholy smile. “He chose not to come. Not with me, at least. I don’t know. Maybe he left later and I didn’t notice.” Her gaze turns to her companion, her tone still a forced kind of light when she adds, “He was always good at that.” At leaving, without her, and then returning as though nothing had happened. He had taught her that, too – how to leave, and how to handle being left. How to be left over and over again and not crumble even if they took a small piece of her everytime they did it.
“You seem happy, so, I assume your outcome was brighter than mine,” she says, genuine and uncondescending. She has never been the kind to be bitter at another’s happiness; her sorrows were almost always of her own doing.
ryatah
@[Agetta]