There is something about being born magicless for all practical purposes that forces one to develop other talents. Despite Cassian’s levity, the one that had come most naturally to him was understanding others. Developing rapport even with those most seemed to avoid. Of course, that hadn’t worked terribly well when he’d been eaten, but he likes to think that was an isolated incident.
Now that she has a face he can understand however, it’s easy to read the recrimination and self-loathing in her unguarded expression. The regret.
With a frown, his gaze flicks to the lights bobbing around her as she speaks of their screams. He doesn’t know magic, but he does know trauma. And something tells him she has no clue how much of her own she is swimming in. He doesn’t say anything though, that same something telling him she probably wouldn’t understand even if he did.
As much as he might see and understand, he is hardly an expert in these kinds of things. And he’s not sure how much help he actually could be anyway. Besides, he’s really not sure what to make of her declaration that they move things to trip her.
“You have nightmares of their deaths,” he repeats thoughtfully, eyes still darting between her and the lights. Then the smallest smile crosses his lips, sympathy etched into his dark features. After a moment, he admits softly, “I have nightmares sometimes too.”
Her last quiet admission is what affects him the most however, the broken words squeezing at his heart as he takes an instinctual step closer. He wants to offer comfort in the only way he knows how, with his touch and acceptance, but he’s not sure she would want him to touch her. That is what stops him before he can take a second step. Instead he frowns, then shakes his head.
“No one deserves hate,” he finally says, brown eyes kind as they rest on her. “I don’t hate you.”
@Nostromo