Sweet Rosamund is so caring, she should just let him splat onto the scones and become one with the void floor... He reaches out when she comes to support him, resting a hand on her arm in turn, the other still against his chest. At the very least, he doesn't seem to be on the precipice of launching into another fucky Reliver emotions spiral...]
Ah— I'm okay... [He always feels vaguely embarrassed when other people feel the need to console him from their own horrific memories.] --But are you?
[She nods fast as he asserts himself, but falters when he asks after her.]
Me? I... [Well then. He can catch a waft of her own dread, not just of a pulse-pounding encounter but of perceiving things best never seen. An awareness of something beyond her scope or power that might rend her apart if she turns to face it.
And exhaustion. A bone-weary exhaustion that betrays her easy cover and quick words.]
I'm fine. I've seen her before. I don't like having to see her again, but it's not the first time I've been made to.
[There's a beat.]
For what it's worth, I don't think she can do much to anyone any longer.
[They're emotions he sure can't blame her for feeling, given what it looked like she was dealing with. Even though the encounter wasn't his own, nor the dread or sensation of witnessing something unknowable, it's still hard to shake the lingering remnants of it so soon.]
...I'm glad. Something like that feels like it shouldn't exist. It's too big a threat.
[And big threats should always be eliminated, for the good of the people who would otherwise be destroyed by them.]
[And now comes the hard part: trying to put her nonsensical world into sensible terms. There's a line between her brows as she puzzles it all out.]
She was the Wicked Stepmother. She was a character in someone else's story, who was made only to be a villain so that the heroine could be loved. And when she discovered that — when she found out the truth of her existence, she decided she wanted to do something about it.
She found a way to leave our world, and to start devouring all the versions of her that ever existed. Then she started eating those that were close to her, or rather the role she played. Gaining power to...well, I suppose she wanted revenge on the people who made us.
[Damn he can understand going batshit after finding out that the entire purpose of your existence was just to be shitty and hated so everyone loved someone else, at least in theory. But what she became is still incomprehensible to him... Busting out of your book house and eating other versions of yourself really makes you into an eldritch monstrosity, huh.]
They should count themselves lucky that she was already stopped, then, all things considered.
[His shoulders hunch upward for just a moment as he still shakes off the lingering unease of WITNESSING THINGS best left in the shadows he hates it here.]
...I'm sorry you had to experience that, though. That was a horrible feeling...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Sweet Rosamund is so caring, she should just let him splat onto the scones and become one with the void floor... He reaches out when she comes to support him, resting a hand on her arm in turn, the other still against his chest. At the very least, he doesn't seem to be on the precipice of launching into another fucky Reliver emotions spiral...]
Ah— I'm okay... [He always feels vaguely embarrassed when other people feel the need to console him from their own horrific memories.] --But are you?
no subject
Me? I... [Well then. He can catch a waft of her own dread, not just of a pulse-pounding encounter but of perceiving things best never seen. An awareness of something beyond her scope or power that might rend her apart if she turns to face it.
And exhaustion. A bone-weary exhaustion that betrays her easy cover and quick words.]
I'm fine. I've seen her before. I don't like having to see her again, but it's not the first time I've been made to.
[There's a beat.]
For what it's worth, I don't think she can do much to anyone any longer.
no subject
...I'm glad. Something like that feels like it shouldn't exist. It's too big a threat.
[And big threats should always be eliminated, for the good of the people who would otherwise be destroyed by them.]
But-- what was she...?
no subject
You're right. She shouldn't.
[And now comes the hard part: trying to put her nonsensical world into sensible terms. There's a line between her brows as she puzzles it all out.]
She was the Wicked Stepmother. She was a character in someone else's story, who was made only to be a villain so that the heroine could be loved. And when she discovered that — when she found out the truth of her existence, she decided she wanted to do something about it.
She found a way to leave our world, and to start devouring all the versions of her that ever existed. Then she started eating those that were close to her, or rather the role she played. Gaining power to...well, I suppose she wanted revenge on the people who made us.
no subject
They should count themselves lucky that she was already stopped, then, all things considered.
[His shoulders hunch upward for just a moment as he still shakes off the lingering unease of WITNESSING THINGS best left in the shadows he hates it here.]
...I'm sorry you had to experience that, though. That was a horrible feeling...
[Even just as a witness, that was truly wild.]