Exactly. [She nods.] And even in their own cases, that they gave up on ever having a chance to make things better...I wanted differently for them, too.
Being placed direct in his shoes makes all the difference. Rosamund comes out shivering, pale, gulping back her own nausea. The echoes of his grief prick her skin. They rend her heart, push new tears down her face.
She looks to him, clutching at her own chest in horror. Not a word comes out of her mouth.]
[it affects him differently - he's had years of living with this truth, so he pushes himself not to react too openly beyond a short intake of breath and a stiffening in his shoulders.]
[She can see where this is going. Where this went. The mad dash within the reverie already made sense, but now the sickening guilt clicks in.
Rosamund looks to Arthur and senses a fissure form in his stiff posture, his clipped words. This is one way to respond to pain. It's probably not the only wound he has, to become so reticent as he is.
She throws prudence to the side. Rosamund approaches and winds her arms around his shoulders in a soft embrace, chin nesting at his shoulder.]
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[wanting something better for even the people who tried to do so much harm, he means. he's about to say something else, but then it's memory time.]
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Being placed direct in his shoes makes all the difference. Rosamund comes out shivering, pale, gulping back her own nausea. The echoes of his grief prick her skin. They rend her heart, push new tears down her face.
She looks to him, clutching at her own chest in horror. Not a word comes out of her mouth.]
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...My apologies. That you had to see that.
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[Her head shakes. She wipes at her eyes, the shock dripping out of her in lieu of a terrible sorrow.]
Don't apologize. It was nothing of your own doing. [The vision or the murders. She's certain of it.] What happened to them?
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There are... very destructive creatures where I'm from. They lost a fight with one.
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[She can see where this is going. Where this went. The mad dash within the reverie already made sense, but now the sickening guilt clicks in.
Rosamund looks to Arthur and senses a fissure form in his stiff posture, his clipped words. This is one way to respond to pain. It's probably not the only wound he has, to become so reticent as he is.
She throws prudence to the side. Rosamund approaches and winds her arms around his shoulders in a soft embrace, chin nesting at his shoulder.]