sworndevotion | karteria inbox

[ The reply comes about two hours later; she’s clearly been dwelling on it. ]

you should not forgive so easily.

[She's clearly been avoiding him, and the silence makes him wonder if it will continue, despite the gesture of the gift. The gift makes him certain she is punishing herself.]

Why not?

a terrible wrong was done to you. you were in pain. it is not right.

You were not in control of yourself. You had a need. I wanted to help you.

you should not have. what i did to you was

[ There’s not even words for it, and it hurts. ]

it must pain you still.

I have had wounds far worse than this. If it makes you feel better, it was not the first time something like this happened to me.

[Dedue, my guy, why would that make her feel better?]

it does not.
you should care for yourself more.

do you require aid? in treating it.

[Hm, yeah, fair assessment. No comment, though.]

I have treated it as well as I can without seeing a doctor or healer. Though you likely have more knowledge of healing than I do.

[What with the herbs and poultices and potentially healing magics?]

i would look at it. if you would permit me.
it is my responsibility to you.

[He has a knee-jerk urge to argue. But it wouldn't be logical. Reasonably, it sort of is her responsibility, but he still hates the idea of her caring for him out of obligation.]

Very well. I am inside.

[ The truth is more complicated, of course: she does want to help him with this because it is her fault, but also because she cares for him. She does not want to think of him in pain, no matter the reason, and her guilt gnaws at her before she forces herself to shove it aside.

Coming inside is tricky, and it takes her a little bit of time to actually get the courage to do it, poking her head through firsts and then slipping in. When she sees him, she swallows, breathing out softly and clutching a small bag to her chest.

Lauralae doesn't think he will be cruel, but she can be worried, still. ]

Dedue. [ Stepping over, she bites the inside of her cheek hard. ] Please show me your arm.

[He's at the kitchen table when she comes in, drinking tea and doing some paperwork to try to get staff paid.

He looks up at her. She looks... Guilty. Reticent.

He simply turns toward her and extends his arm. He's put on a t-shirt rather than his usual button-down so that she can see both wounds without him taking his shirt off. Clean bandages cover the wounds now.]

[ It hurts to look at him.

It's hard to tell if he is silent because he is giving her time to process and think or because he has nothing kind to say aloud to her, and Lauralae does what she can to shove the thoughts aside. Instead, she makes her way over to him, placing the basket on the table and breathing out.

The bandages appear clean, and she doesn't scent too much blood in the air. She refuses to let her eyes linger on the shape of him as she reaches out, gloved hands resting against one of the wounds, before she closes her eyes and begins to summon her healing magic.

It is not her strongest - she was crafted for pain, after all - but it lingers still, an old skill gathering rust. ]

... How does it feel?

[He's simply quiet because he isn't sure what to say, and their relationship has never been stifled with the pressure to say more than they need to just to fill the silence.

He would not admit it to her, but the wounds have been quite slow to heal. They're not infected, which had been his primary fear, but they do hurt, and there is some swelling.

She puts her hand over the bandage, and there is relief, slow but definite. He breathes out, his shoulders lowering a fraction of an inch.]

Better already. Thank you.

Do not.

[ It feels wrong to be thanked for tending to something she caused, a twist of guilt in her gut that she can't shove away.

Instead, she focuses her magic, shoving it towards where she had bitten him. Even now, as she stares at the places where her fangs had been, she can feel an odd sense of serenity in her. She had died, then, as a monster, and now she is back she feels changed for it. Her pulse is gone, her skin is far paler, her claws worse, her teeth sharper. She feels less like the woman she had been, and more akin to that beast.

At least Dedue does not flinch.

When she has pushed herself to some kind of limit, needing a break, she breathes out and goes for her basket, pulling out vials. ]

These will ease any pain, and this will soothe the skin, so there is less risk of scarring. I do not know if there is infection - [ she pauses. From her teeth, or the bite, or her abandoning him, or the nature of being out in the dark when she had done it... ] - but there are herbs for that, also.

[She quiets him, so he stays quiet, watching her. She looks more corrupted than she was before. There's a strange stillness to her.

There is more relief. More healing, less pain, and the offer of substances to aid further healing and prevent infection. Dedue is good at first aid, but he is no healer, and he did not want to have to explain these wounds to a doctor, even at the Augmented clinic.]

Thank-

[He stops himself, remembering she doesn't want his thanks.]

This will help. How are you?

[ The truth is that she doesn’t know the answer to that.

There’s an obvious awareness to the differences that her death has brought her. She feels different for it, her heart does not beat as it should, she feels hollow and empty inside at times and she struggles to rationalise it. She had died, and it has done nothing to leave her feeling any less like a monster.

But she’s back. She’s here, and he has yet to cast her out, even if he is in his rights to.

She died, and she feels so lonely. So empty. Her eyes burn as she shakes her head. ]

I do not know. When I learned that I would die, I hoped to die alone. That was not to be so.

[ Instead… ]

I hurt many people. I hurt myself. I do not know what to do.

You... You died?

[He's heard this about spectral types, of course, but... He did not think that was what would happen to her. Who was with her, if she wasn't alone?]

When? How?

[ Oh.

Lauralae had thought he’d known, that he was aware that’s why she had been gone - but perhaps he’d simply imagined her avoiding him. Another sin for her to atone for, if she is able to do so. Slowly, anticipating the conversation growing harder, she sits, staring at her hands.

How does she do this? ]

That night. When my control was lost. I died then.

[There's an oddly helpless look on Dedue's ever-stoic face then, lips slightly parted, eyebrows lifting, almost childlike.

She died, and he did not even know? He could not help her, or at least be there for her in those moments of terror.]

You were not alone?

I… No.

[ Not technically, since someone killed her. She’s grateful for that, but she thinks perhaps not telling Dedue that part might be safer for now.

Absently, her fingers flex. ]

I am sorry. I thought you knew.

[He's glad, at least, that she wasn't alone.]

No. I... I apologize. I tried to find you.

[It makes sense now why she didn't respond, but this sounds like the worst case scenario.]

[ Bowing her head, she swallows, voice hoarse and hollow. She hadn’t been alone, but she’s not going to focus on her encounters with others, or how she died. She doesn’t want to think about it. ]

I am glad you did not.

[ Slowly, she turns her eyes back to him. ]

I hurt you enough that night. I would not wish more of it upon you.

[He looks down at the table for a long moment, brooding. So much pain, for both of them...]

Why? Why did this happen to you?

It was my soul. The one given to me here.

[ Since her own was taken a long time ago. ]

I… Was tired, and I have been warring with it for some time. It seems that it took control in my weakness, and I was unable to take it back.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject