[open] where the moon had turned

[lannister]

you used to tell me we'd turn into something
oh, you said life was much better than this

Her softness begins to still the pained beating of Lannister’s heart. He watches Cressida with the worry she mentioned wrinkling his eyes. It’s the gentle splash of moonlight that finally urges words from his mouth: “Did you do that?” It’s not an answer to her question, not even an attempt to soothe the quiet ache of realization creeping up his spine.

It was easy to strangle others’ powers in the dream world once his new magic began to settle. When Lannister didn’t want his work interrupted, he shut their minds from their power, gently making them forget what gifts they possess. Now, as he tries to imagine golden tendrils reaching out to Cressida, to sense what it is she can do, he feels absolutely nothing. The hollowness of his imagination echoes and bounces back. He takes a nervous step back.

“I’m okay,” Lannister finally answers, though it is barely a whisper, an indication he is anything but okay. He hadn’t been okay since his power settled in, since the last time he saw Elio, since years ago when he realized he was a prisoner. And this—this magic manifested by his anger—it was all the culmination of something ugly, something dark, some monstrous creature Lan sensed he was destined to become.

“Where are we?” he finally asks, closing his eyes against the eventual confirmation.

lannister

@cressida