06-07-2021, 04:59 PM
Ryatah
Mazikeen says that it was Gale that did this, and it takes her a moment to realize there is something inherently wrong with that statement.
Violence has been normalized for her—it was the only form of punishment she knew. She is familiar with being forced to bleed or to beg, and then still dying. She is used to paying for her mistakes, no matter how insignificant they seemed. It was the same cycle she has been in nearly all of her life, and the version of herself that existed years ago, before a relatively normal life with Atrox, would not have recognized the horror in what Maze says. There is a part of her that still does not comprehend — the part of her that does not fault Carnage for the things he does to her, because she accepts him for who he is and all of the things that come with it.
But she knows that the relationship between Maze and Gale is not like her and Carnage, and she thinks instead what it would be like to have Atrox hurt her like that. It makes her chest feel tight, makes her want to crawl inside of herself and maybe never come back out.
She is used to love looking like many different things, but she is sure Maze never expected this.
“I’m sorry, Maze,” is all she says at first, with another gentle touch to her brow. Her gaze turns to Sabal when she explains that the Curse takes with it pieces of Gale’s memory, and that he likely would not remember this incident. “And there’s no way to stop it?” she asks with a slight but concerned frown. She wants to think that there must be a way, but she has already been faced with so many things and no possible way to fix them—like Atrox’s heart.
She asks if the sun is gone again, and Ryatah casts a sympathetic glance towards Sabal. She is so familiar with being blind that she is not sure how to explain it to someone that is not; it has been so long she does not remember what it was like to first have to learn how to navigate this world in the dark. She can’t remember if she had been afraid, or frustrated, or if she only had felt the immense weight of guilt at angering Carnage like that.
“If it’s any consolation,” she begins, soft and careful, unable to recall what she would have wanted in this situation all those years ago in the dale (her situation was different—the entire kingdom descended into chaos, and it was a miracle one of the few healers available had even found her. She doesn’t remember when she finally had the chance to process being blind). “It does get easier.” She pauses, because she wants to clarify that she only means the sight, but she is sure Maze knows that. The Curse, and everything surrounding it, she cannot promise will get easier, or even find some kind of resolution. “And if you ever need anything else, you know where to find me.”
Violence has been normalized for her—it was the only form of punishment she knew. She is familiar with being forced to bleed or to beg, and then still dying. She is used to paying for her mistakes, no matter how insignificant they seemed. It was the same cycle she has been in nearly all of her life, and the version of herself that existed years ago, before a relatively normal life with Atrox, would not have recognized the horror in what Maze says. There is a part of her that still does not comprehend — the part of her that does not fault Carnage for the things he does to her, because she accepts him for who he is and all of the things that come with it.
But she knows that the relationship between Maze and Gale is not like her and Carnage, and she thinks instead what it would be like to have Atrox hurt her like that. It makes her chest feel tight, makes her want to crawl inside of herself and maybe never come back out.
She is used to love looking like many different things, but she is sure Maze never expected this.
“I’m sorry, Maze,” is all she says at first, with another gentle touch to her brow. Her gaze turns to Sabal when she explains that the Curse takes with it pieces of Gale’s memory, and that he likely would not remember this incident. “And there’s no way to stop it?” she asks with a slight but concerned frown. She wants to think that there must be a way, but she has already been faced with so many things and no possible way to fix them—like Atrox’s heart.
She asks if the sun is gone again, and Ryatah casts a sympathetic glance towards Sabal. She is so familiar with being blind that she is not sure how to explain it to someone that is not; it has been so long she does not remember what it was like to first have to learn how to navigate this world in the dark. She can’t remember if she had been afraid, or frustrated, or if she only had felt the immense weight of guilt at angering Carnage like that.
“If it’s any consolation,” she begins, soft and careful, unable to recall what she would have wanted in this situation all those years ago in the dale (her situation was different—the entire kingdom descended into chaos, and it was a miracle one of the few healers available had even found her. She doesn’t remember when she finally had the chance to process being blind). “It does get easier.” She pauses, because she wants to clarify that she only means the sight, but she is sure Maze knows that. The Curse, and everything surrounding it, she cannot promise will get easier, or even find some kind of resolution. “And if you ever need anything else, you know where to find me.”
EVEN ANGELS HAVE THEIR WICKED SCHEMES
@Mazikeen