escordvi | closed 🪶 i'm in the end, just what you made me.

[He knew it.

He's always known it, since the first time she let it slip back on the Stormbringer in that cabin.

It's impossible for him not to have recognized it even without it.

However, how he understood that fear was different than what she's saying now. Before, clearly she was scared for her survival, of Barnabas. Now?]

Of what?

[There's less anger and now it's more of a desperate pleading as he steps over to her.]

You keep telling me I don't understand—so tell me so I can at least try!

[She's scared, he knows that. But what is it exactly. Is it being with him? If it is, why? Is she scared of losing him? That's natural, no need to question that, but is it more than that? What exactly is he to her. Is there something else she's afraid of that's holding her back? All of it? Something else completely?

He doesn't know. He can't even begin to guess which it is and all of them require something different, which he can't do if he doesn't know.]

[He steps to her, and she steps away, though not far. A single step, easy for him to close the distance in a single stride if he tried to.

Of what, he asks, as if it were that easy. Of what...? Of being hurt again. Of being left behind. Of being hated. Of being seen as weak. Of losing control.

So, so many things that she cannot even begin to explain to him in a way that he would understand. She had been afraid before, yes, but this is different. Before, she feared for her own life, her own skin, and thought nothing more than of her own survival with Barnabas's blade pressed precariously to her throat, ready to draw blood the moment she had wronged him.

Now, the worst part of it is that this is not about her own life. And while she has new things to fear, like the rifts swallowing her whole and flinging her back into the aether without a word of warning, it's only deepened by something else. Something that she has not known or felt, or perhaps she never knew how strongly she felt it, until she saw him in the gallows.

But how much more can she lie about it? How much more can she pretend that she isn't? Pushing him away felt easier simply because it would take away that expectation of being hurt and left behind again, but now... Now that she truly has nothing left...

...]

You will see me differently if I do.

[He will keep closing that distance, but he will keep some. Just a step. Just within arm's reach so that if he has to grab her he will. He is only allowing her that space because he knows she needs it, but at the same time he's often left wondering if she'd rather him force to close that gap. Always this line...

...

And her words make his face crumple. Of all the things—]

Benedikta.

[And hand lifts, wanting to reach out to her, but he clenches those fingers in forced restraint.]

What could possibly be worse than what we've already done to each other?

[They already thought the worst of each other at least once. Him, especially, when she stopped answering his calls, stopped meeting him, stopped listening to him. Watched her disappearing down that certain corridor. Saw her become a shell of her former self. At least to him, that's already hitting the lowest she could possibly get, yet here he is, still standing in front of her. So what is it that she's valuing that could be more than that?]

Edited 2023-11-20 05:09 (UTC)

[She knows what it is he refers to—every little bit of their painful past, their last days together when she pretended and convinced herself that everything was fine when it wasn't. She still remembers that last night on his balcony where they shared their last cigar together.

That night would forever be her biggest regret...]

Everything.

[Her voice is quiet. Too quiet and too even. She wants to scream at him, but she can't even bring herself to do that anymore. She wants to slap him, but what good will that do? It would bring her no satisfaction, or pride. It would only leave her feeling more hollow than she already does.

He thinks that those years were their lowest points, but Benedikta disagrees. This is her lowest point. The point where she truly feels like she has nothing left... and if she opens her mouth and spills it all to him, that very last thread of who she is will be gone.

A silence hangs over them now, and Benedikta tries her damnest to quiet Garuda who shrieks in her ears. Weak, weak, weak...]

[He stands there, staring at her, that debate of whether to just let her be or force it out of her. But he can feel it—this is it. Not all of it, but this is a key piece that they need to get out if they are to get anywhere.

If she is to get anywhere.]

That's for me to decide.

[Another reference to something she's been doing all this time—trying to make his own decisions, making assumptions of what he will or will not do. Using her own perceptions to believe one thing when it's the opposite.]

Let's not make the same mistake we did before.

[It's now that he'll reach out and take her hand, and will tighten it if she tries to draw back.]

Talk to me. Please.

[Weak, weak, weak, she screams, louder and louder until his hand wraps around hers, and she will instinctively pull back, only for the tightening of his fingers to silence that damned harpy when he keeps her from fleeing.

For him to decide, is it?

Even when Benedikta decided a long time ago that he wouldn't want her back. That he would look at her and see the weak-willed girl who hid behind her wings when things became too much. That he would remember how easily she let Barnabas chain her down, and then worse... that he would finally see her for what she is now that she no longer has to wear them. How she still wears them, even when he's gone, because that is all she knows. That is all she's ever known.

Because she is too afraid to step foot outside of that cage into a world she fears... knows will only betray her.

Much like he had.

When she lets herself feel things, that is when she loses control of her life. It all spirals out of her control. Every time.

But she still finds herself unable to let him go. Unable to set him free from her shadows, from within the fangs of her demons, to bask in the sun that longs to shine for him. No, she keeps dragging him out of the light and into the dark.

...Weak...

Her fingers tighten around his.]

...

[But where to start?

She swallows, her mouth and throat bone dry, and she wants so bad to tear off her own skin that no longer feels like her own.

Her lips quiver, but he can't see it.]

I don't know who I am anymore.

[He's heard her say this before, and he somewhat understands. She's been following a certain beat, a certain life, certain orders and now it's all been taken out from under her. She's probably realizing she's been standing on a house of cards, and now it's all crumbling with her unable to control it.

It's too much, too fast, and he actually understands a bit. He didn't suffer as much as she did, but he, too, had his whole life and ideals shaken the moment he learned that truth. Questioning, doubting, wondering if what all he did in those past twenty years was worth anything. If it was a waste of his time, his life. But perhaps because he was older, more experienced, and more driven, he was able to turn it around and forge a different path instead of wallowing in hatred and despair.

Now, he has to try and help her do the same. But how? She's so different, and he can't just best it over her head.

Slowly he tightens his hold on her hand.]

Then let's start figuring it out. Who did you think you were? What did you want to be?

Edited 2023-11-20 06:51 (UTC)

[Figuring it out... She would scoff at that if she had the strength to. She has tried that and still ends up back in the same place—a place of power and comfort, where she does not have to worry about falling into the same pitfalls. Only now, she doesn't know where that place is anymore. It was at Barnabas's side, and with him gone, so is that perch, and she is left wondering where to go, beating her wings long after they are tired while she looks for a new one...

She turns her body slightly, and her eyes wander down to where he holds her hand in his.]

I was weak, Cidolfus.

[He had seen her when they first met. Skin and bones, her hair always a tattered, uneven mess, and boundless amounts of aether in her that she could not control. Garuda had been loud then, and she is louder now, as Benedikta slowly feels herself losing her grip on her the longer that she tries to stay in the air and not fall. She did not know then who she wanted, who she even was... They said that she could live her life the way she wanted to, that she was no longer a little slave girl, but...

Her wrists... they ache and burn.

She still is, as Garuda is wont to remind her now.]

And I did not want to be anymore.

[That was it. At the bottom line, that's all that Benedikta wanted. She no longer wanted to be "girl" or "hey you" or the one who would have to endure lashings and yelling when she didn't know what she'd done wrong. But it all taught her a valuable lesson: that power was everything, and if she had power, she had the ability to stand above it all. To never be that wretched, scared little thing again.

...

And yet... his questions give her pause because...]

What is there beyond that?

[He lets out a small breath. It's not that he doesn't know or cannot guess why she thinks this way. He was the one who found her, was the one who saw and learned of her past, what she went through. Things he had also seen and was familiar with to some extent.

That desire to not be weak. To be strong enough to survive and stand on one's own feet.]

There is nothing wrong in being stronger. But it's not the only thing.

[A pause as he looks at their hands.]

Ask yourself this: were you ever happy with all that power? Did you ever feel satisfied, fulfilled?

[And the unsaid question: was it really worth all that she sacrificed to get there?]

[At that, her fingers tighten around his, her knuckles nearly turning white.

A heavier silence looms over them, the space filled with a tension that one could easily cut through with a knife, pulled so taut that it could snap at any moment. It doesn't, but Benedikta can feel it, hot like static that, no matter how hard she tries to wipe away, it only clings harder to her.

Because she knows the truth of it. She has since he left her in Waloed and found what that emptiness truly meant. What it was like to go from feeling happy to not, to having everything that she could ever want to having nothing... She knew what it was like to chase just so that she could feel something...

She searched and she searched in those dark blue eyes, and always came up short.

And now, Benedikta realizes...]

... I don't know how to answer that.

[... she doesn't really know what it is like to feel satisfied. Fulfilled. Truly and utterly happy.]

Then that's your answer.

[An answer he knew all along... And had tried to stop her from falling into. If she had been happy, if she was actually proud and happy about her life, he would have said much less—even if it was without him. Yet every time he saw her, he could always see it.

It wasn't pride, it was bitterness. It wasn't just arrogance, it was a mask.

If there is no shame, then why do you feel so sorry for yourself!?

Tried over and over...

It only had to be now that she might finally listen. And he can't say he's happy about it, but it's something.]

And you won't find it in just me, either.

[He brushes his thumb over her fingertips.]

I can only offer you a part, however big or small, but if you depend on me too much you'll just fall right back to where you are now. You need to find new things that you like to do, that makes you feel proud to call your own.

And maybe it's doing the same things you have been doing. But this time, you're not acting because you're trying to prove to someone else.

[He slowly moves their hands so it lightly thumps against her chest, over her heart.]

But to yourself.

[She may say that's what she's been doing all along, but her standing here unable to find herself is proof that she hasn't.]

[She's surprised by the gesture, so bold and so forward and so very sure that she might actually believe it... if she opened her heart just a little more. But as it stands, it's shut tight, cowering away from his touch and that softness and pity in his eyes that scares her so, so much. He might feel it under his hand—the way that it beats so relentlessly, afraid and ready to flee the moment he lets her go. But she knows that he won't. Now that he has her, she knows that he will hold on until he's sure that she won't.

But that isn't even the half of it.]

How do I even do that, Cidolfus?

[Her voice trembles as if she might scream at him again, and her eyes zero in on him, searching his face as if she might find an answer there, and instead, she finds something else.]

... I need you.

[He says that she should not depend on him so much. That she will just spiral back into where she is now, lost without her sense of self with no idea what that even means, but she realizes—no, she always knew that without him, there is no ground for her to stand on. No wind under her wings for her to take off and find a way to fly on her own.

He is that wind.

And no matter how much she tries to pretend that she doesn't, that she is strong enough to do it on her own, no matter the pride or the stubbornness or the venom in her heart...

She needs him.

That takes every last bit of strength she has to admit it.]

[Although he keeps their hands where they are, he'll reach up with his other one as he steps closer to her, that distance between shortening even more as his other hand reaches up to brush the crook of his finger against her cheek.]

I know. And like I said, I'll help you through it—I won't abandon you. But you also have to let me in...and trust me just a little more.

[Not all the way.

He knows that can't happen yet, just like how he isn't trusting her wholly yet either, so he's not going to ask such a thing. But she's going to need to trust him a little more than she has already, and she needs to be more open with him.]

I can't help you if you keep pushing me away when I try.

[She almost snaps back from his finger on her cheek, too tender and affectionate for her to handle in the moment, but rather than flinch away like she wishes she could, she finds herself leaning into the warmth, however much that single touch could offer her.

She wants to accept it and not push him away, but...

"I won't abandon you," he says like it's another promise he's making to her, and that's when she leans away from his hand, and tries to pull the other one from his. She feels that spike in anger again, remembers what she saw that day at the gallows and how she felt when she did. How that rage and that grief came to a head in that moment before she landed with her talons out, ready to tear the world apart.

And now Garuda is there, and as much as she wanted the Eikon back, she doesn't like this feeling that she could lose control of her at any moment, and history will somehow repeat itself.]

...

But you—

[Her voice rises suddenly, but she stops herself, taking in a sharp inhale.]

You almost did.

[He stands there when she pulls back, and he knows very well what she means. Even if it wasn't that, she would have been right to call back to when he did leave her in the past, circumstances aside.

So he just takes a deep breath, his hands falling to his sides.]

...I fucked up there, I know. And I can only say I will be more careful, but you do know that won't be the last time I could be in a dangerous situation. Not even of my own doing.

[He's quick to add that before she gets the wrong idea.]

This world is not much different from what we face in Valisthea. You're not going to ban me from even doing monster hunts, are you?

[And now that his hands are gone from hers, she finds herself immediately wishing that they weren't. But she stands there, mirroring him, her shoulders now stooped with all of the tension settling into the notches of her spine and wings.]

I—

[She almost tells him that yes, she would. She would if she knew that he would listen to her, but she can see the stubbornness in his features, in every wrinkle around his brow and his eyes, and in that downturn of his lips. And maybe a part of her is satisfied that she did, some small piece of Benedikta vindicated that she could still put them there. That it wasn't all smiles and gentle looks with them because she can only handle so much and more than that, that he could feel even the smallest bit the way that she does.

But the rest of her is just angry and frustrated with him because here they go again. Here he goes again not understanding what she wants and making her say it. Making her give her voice to these feelings so that they could wrap around her chest tighter.]

If I lost you again, I... [More yelling, her voice pitching just a little louder, fists tightening at her sides.] I don't know what I would do...!

[For fuck's sake, why doesn't he get it yet!?]

[Apparently he doesn't because he thought he did?? Or maybe his understanding only scratched the surface, if not wrong altogether. Either way, it's clear that words are not working right now—or maybe it's not the right time for it. He was always bad at that, talking first when really he should—]

Benedikta—

[—just reach out and grab her, pull her to him in his arms. Which is exactly what he'll do, even if she might protest. Pull her in close so she can feel his warmth, feel the solid rhythm of his heart.]

You're right... I'm sorry.

[There's a small sound of surprise from the back of her throat as she's grabbed and pulled and her body crashes into his. She's stiff at first, the surprise stumbling into protest, but her body betrays her as she melts into him slowly, limb by limb. And while she doesn't wrap her arms around him in return, she closes her eyes and presses her head firmly to his chest where she can hear his heartbeat—feel it, like she's scared that she might lose it.

And she was. Is. As Garuda screams and screams some more at her, but it's his heart that drowns out the noises of her dissent.

She can feel her eyes burning again, tears ready to burst free, but she screws them shut and bites down. Tighter and tighter until she can will them away.

Quietly, from where her face is buried, she speaks in a strained shout.]

You would think me weak... pity me for all this, wouldn't you?

[It's all right that she doesn't put her arms around him—his own is enough for the both of them. He presses the side of his face down against the top of her head first, eyes closing as he can feel how her body reacts—from that initial stiffening to that slow relaxing, guessing she must stifling her emotions.

Especially at her words.]

No.

[So the answer is immediate, a small frown forming.]

Why would you think that?

Because.

[She knows that isn't a sufficient answer at all, but she offers it with as much petulance as she can muster, but it lacks her usual fight.

There's a pause, and one hand comes up to lightly grab the hem of his shirt, two delicate fingers hanging on from it.]

That way that you look at me...

[So soft and sad. She can't stand it. She hates how it pulls at every thread in her heart in ways that she cannot bear or fathom.]

[Well.

That gets an arch of the brow and he has to pull back slightly to look at her.]

You mean when I look at you out of concern and care?

No.

[Another sulking answer, as she can feel him pull back and she just knows he is looking at her that way now, with concern and care that she still just sees as pity.

It's not something that she's used to. Not since back then, before she had managed a grasp on Garuda. Those days when she would sob quietly into her hands on the training grounds, and those early mornings when she would return to the Einjerhar to find him so that she could sob quietly into his chest instead. Since he left Waloed, she hasn't known that look.

It's been so long that she's nearly forgotten it, and he seems to enjoy reminding her now.

She's going to just move on from it, ignoring the way that he tugs at her heart still.]

...You... are all I have left, Cidolfus.

[A small sigh. This... Is going to be another point they'll have to work on.]

It's not out of pity, and I don't think you're weak.

[He's just going reaffirm that. Even if she doesn't believe him now, he'll continue to hammer it into her until she does.]

But even if I did, it wouldn't change anything, Benedikta. I wouldn't think less of you or leave you.

You should know me better than that.

[When he took her hand when she was truly at her lowest. When he helped her, guided her, stood by her. The only time he did leave her...was not when she was weak. But when she tried to push herself for that power.]

[Except that she doesn't. All Benedikta knows is that he did leave her, and then very nearly left her again, both times when she had been ready to spill her heart to him. Ready to rip it out of her chest because she couldn't take it anymore and press it into his palm to hold instead.]

Should I?

[She questions him, her brow furrowing against his chest, because does she really know him still? They have changed so much, grown so far apart that they are still learning each other again. No longer are they on working on the same frequencies, finishing each other's thoughts and sentences, reading each other that way that they so easily could back then...

She very much doubts it because she thinks he still doesn't quite understand where she's coming from, and trying to explain it to him is like pulling out her own claws and fangs.]

Because I asked you not to leave me, and then you...

[A low growl under her breath, and she pulls on the edge of his shirt tighter. She won't repeat it again.

Her fist comes up, and she brings it forward to pound against his chest, though it's weak and tired, but she holds it there.]

I should stand on my own feet. I shouldn't need you. I shouldn't need anyone. Not anymore. I am not her anymore.

[She's going to hold that over his head, as if he consciously made that decisions. But he won't say anything since it doesn't really matter.]

Yes, you should stand on your own feet.

[He'll just agree with her.]

But that doesn't mean you have to do it alone. Even the strongest need someone else to help support them, Benedikta. Those who don't crumble and fall faster.

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