[Her breath does catch when he takes their hands the rest of the way to where she could not, but her fingers are warm against his as they give a light squeeze before relaxing, her eyes now transfixed on them instead.
His question, however, sends all of that tension right into her shoulders and her spine, and though she still rests against him, she feels as if she's just tried to shove an entire rift between them as a means to protect herself. Tried... and failed because he would not let her do it. And if he did, then he would still be holding her hand, still bridging that gap somehow.
There was no running from him now. Not anymore.
He has a vise grip on her, and it isn't just their hands held between them. She does nothing to stop it either, even when it reminds her of the last of their days spent together. How tightly wound that thread was that he held onto her with then, until slowly, it unraveled and came undone. Only this time, it's sturdier, weaved with those memories as if they are what keep it from falling apart again out of the same sheer desperation to see that it doesn't.
That it keeps her right where she is, where she was supposed to be all this time, and it's here that he asks if she is afraid.
The truth is...]
I am.
[...she has always been afraid.
There has never been a moment where she wasn't for one reason or another.
Before, in Waloed, it was the fear that he would demand something in return from her that she could not give. And then, that he might see her imperfections and hate them. That he would leave her behind. She was afraid of what that new life of his would mean for her, and so, she stayed behind. Refused to go, and then blamed him for leaving.
And then, when they reunited here, it was a whole new set of fears along with the old, but most of all, she has always been afraid of being hurt.
Being alone again.]
... The rifts.
[She says it slowly, wishing that it would explain everything she is feeling and thinking in this moment, but she knows that it won't. She knows that is only scraping the tip of this very large iceberg that is them, but they have to start somewhere, don't they?]
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His question, however, sends all of that tension right into her shoulders and her spine, and though she still rests against him, she feels as if she's just tried to shove an entire rift between them as a means to protect herself. Tried... and failed because he would not let her do it. And if he did, then he would still be holding her hand, still bridging that gap somehow.
There was no running from him now. Not anymore.
He has a vise grip on her, and it isn't just their hands held between them. She does nothing to stop it either, even when it reminds her of the last of their days spent together. How tightly wound that thread was that he held onto her with then, until slowly, it unraveled and came undone. Only this time, it's sturdier, weaved with those memories as if they are what keep it from falling apart again out of the same sheer desperation to see that it doesn't.
That it keeps her right where she is, where she was supposed to be all this time, and it's here that he asks if she is afraid.
The truth is...]
I am.
[...she has always been afraid.
There has never been a moment where she wasn't for one reason or another.
Before, in Waloed, it was the fear that he would demand something in return from her that she could not give. And then, that he might see her imperfections and hate them. That he would leave her behind. She was afraid of what that new life of his would mean for her, and so, she stayed behind. Refused to go, and then blamed him for leaving.
And then, when they reunited here, it was a whole new set of fears along with the old, but most of all, she has always been afraid of being hurt.
Being alone again.]
... The rifts.
[She says it slowly, wishing that it would explain everything she is feeling and thinking in this moment, but she knows that it won't. She knows that is only scraping the tip of this very large iceberg that is them, but they have to start somewhere, don't they?]
I don't want them to take us.