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

[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.

[Something snaps in Benedikta then, her entire demeanor shifting in an instant, like the winds can so easily and suddenly shift directions. Her body stiffens, her shoulders shake with a stifled sob, she clenches her jaw so hard, biting her lip to stop herself from boiling over that she thinks she's made herself bleed.

Yes, she is going to hold that over his head until her dying breath, but there had always been a reason for it. A reason that she would not—could not say because it would give so much of her away.

But she is tired. Exhausted. She's had enough of hearing him lecture her about her well-being, had enough of him yelling at her about pushing him away when—]

And what of you!?

[The word lands with another slam of her fist to his chest, this one with what ever strength she has left.]

[He'll take it like he has the rest, but his eyes will narrow.]

What of me?

[She sobs quietly, her frustration with him finally hitting its breaking point, and she tries to scramble and mask the quivering in her voice with a rise in volume instead, muffled only by his shirt as she wipes her burning eyes on the soft fabric, and gods, why does it smell so strongly of him!?]

You give me all these grand speeches about needing support. Helping me. Letting you in.

[Another hit, but her hand slides down his chest to fall back to her side.]

"Those who don't crumble and fall faster", but who the fuck is there to make sure that you do not!?

[And before she can answer, she snaps her head up to look at him, all of the rage and fury and defeat bursting out the corners of her eyes in tears.]

I have tried, and you are the one who pushes me away.

[Whatever he expected, it wasn't that, and his eyes widen in surprise.]

That...

[The word just falls weakly from his lips, as if she had hit him over the head with something so large, so heavy, that he has no comeback. No answer.

...Because that is what he does, isn't it? He never thought of it, but—she's right. Whether it was subconsciously or deliberately out of not wanting anyone to be hurt by his own actions, he puts himself out there first. He shoulders all those burdens so no one else has to. He's heard of others say he takes on too much, but he never thinks anything of it. Interprets it completely differently.

It's only now, seeing Benedikta in tears, that it finally really strikes him.

He can't even argue that he has other people around him. That he does use others, rely on them to fill the places he can't. Because...in the end, he still takes the worst of it. Hell, he went to try and take Drake's Head once on his own, and was preparing to do so again before Clive and Jill showed back up on his doorstep.

And so, he can't answer. He can only remain silent, as if stunned, with only his expression revealing those cracks she's managed to form as it all starts to sink in.]

[She can't even feel any pride or take solace in the fact that she has rendered him silent. That the great Cidolfus Telamon has been knocked down from his high up perch should be something gratifying to watch, but all she feels is that fury. Her claws have now spun to him, and she should want to dig them as deep as they will go, but...

She can't. She can't anymore because she has come to care for him all over again. She is falling for him all over again despite this damning side of himself.

But that doesn't mean she ever has to like it.]

Well!?

[It's barked out like a demand after a too-long stretch of silence.]

Who, Cidolfus? If you would not have me...

[Someone he thinks better than her? More capable? No one was there when she tore apart the gallows. No one was there when he was possessed. No one.

She didn't care back then and she has no idea when that shift happened, but now, the thought of losing him to his own recklessness when he would harp on her for her own...

It fucking kills her.]

[He knows he should answer, but it's as if his throat has thickened and any word he can make is swallowed down, and even that is difficult.

"Those who don't crumble and fall faster", but who the fuck is there to make sure that you do not!?

Who, she asks.

Again names spin through his mind, how Otto takes care of the Hideaway while he focuses on the larger missions, for the many excursions he makes. Charon with her constant supply of goods. Blackthorne to provide their armor, weaponry, and other needs. Gav for his scouting, pivotal for everything they do. Tomes for his knowledge. Even now he had Clive who took on his role, his successor. And all the rest in the Hideaway who do their part to help better everyone else, to prove they could survive. Could live.

Live without him.

Yet even with Otto who was basically his second in command, that still has a disconnect because that's not what she means and he knows it. Because even then, everyone lets him do as he pleases; sigh and protest little but otherwise do not stop him, nor would he really let them. It was his choice to take on this mission to change the world, his mission to try and save them all. And even if it was their choice to follow, it was his decision to bear the burden of protecting and ensuring their safety. To not let them do more than they should. Of course lives were still lost, but if he can prevent and save even one more by taking on the more difficult challenges, then he would.

He did.

He appreciated, treasured, loved them all too much to lose them because they chose to follow his own path. They were more than just "helpers" to aid in his cause, more than just his "charges"—they were friends. Family.

...Just like his troops used to be when he once served as Lord Commander. Of the fellow soldiers and commanders he served with but had to watch to fall one by one in the wars planned and waged by Barnabas. Hearing their voices declaring how they would cover his back, ready to throw their lives to protect him. The times when someone sacrificed themselves saying he had to be the one to live. As long as he was alive, they could keep moving, that there was hope for victory. Over and over until he no longer had anyone left—except Benedikta.

Until he lost her, too.

Until he literally had nothing left for him in Waleod.

One would have thought he wouldn't fall into that pitfall again, that he would harden his heart, close himself off...

But he couldn't. He had Mid. He had Otto. He had someone who still needed him, and he had an axe to grind, so he forced himself forward. But what did change, whether subconsciously or deliberate, was that he would no longer allow anyone else to do his bidding if he could help it. He would not let anyone take the hits for him, try and shield him. Would not let anyone expose their necks farther than needed while he would run out and face the swords instead.

And in the end, it ended with his death.

A death he had chosen.

A death with a path he chose perhaps in some way to atone for all the lives and sacrifices made in his name. For the lives he failed to saved. Whether he consciously chose it is a different matter, but looking back maybe he did to some degree. He wasn't necessarily aiming to die, but whenever he inevitably did, he should at least do so in a form of his own sacrifice, to give back to those who were gone and those who still remained. Perhaps then he could find some penance for his own wrongs and ignorance. His failings.

So after another stretch of silence that lasted long enough where she would be ready to shout more at him, he finally answers quietly.]

No one.

[There was no one.

Because he chose for there to be no one.

He could have had Clive, but even then he doesn't. He already forced the young man into his role, and now he has a chance to live as he should with Jill and his brother. A life that he fears may have been cut far too short. How could he ask more of him when he already gave five of his own to pursue a cause he started?

He could not.

And even now, with Benedikta willingly throwing herself at him...

...

He cannot bring himself to accept. Not if it would put herself in danger. Not if it would have her killed again. Not only that, but she had that chance once. A chance she stepped away from on her own, when perhaps he had needed her most.

Yes.

He was truly a goddamn hypocrite.]

Edited 2023-11-21 14:20 (UTC)

[That look on his face and his long silence is answer enough, but she waits for him to speak anyway. Not out of patience—no, he has long since worn that down into nothing over the past week—but because she wants to hear what he has to say. She wants to hear him say it, she wants to know for certain that she is right about him. That he lets no one in, and that he is just as hypocritical as he claims her to be. It won't bring her satisfaction, only more anger, but she needs to know.

So that silence becomes even more deafening when she says nothing, waits with the breath held in her lungs, ready to shout and scream at him when it finally comes...

And when it does...

...

It, once again, brings her no satisfaction. No pride in knowing that she was right. That urge to shout at him that she told him so has all but dwindled away, leaving nothing in its wake but rage.

Because here she is handing another piece of her broken heart to him, pressing it into his palms and begging for him to take it, and should he put that at risk again, she would never forgive him. He should know that, he should know better, but here he is, accepting it only to turn his back and run off with it. She is putting herself on the line, trying to step across that one that she keeps drawn between them, but it is him who pushes her back this time.

....

Without even thinking, her palm comes up to strike him against his cheek, hard and fast and with the strength of a thousand winds.]

Edited 2023-11-21 16:45 (UTC)

[The slap was expected, so he's not surprised at all. The force...it's enough to turn his head and grimace, but he still doesn't protest. He doesn't even make a witty "I deserved that" remark even though it's true.

He did deserve it.

Here he is, asking her to let him in and he knows very well that she has been trying, has been making so many steps towards him. Yet what does he do?

Shut her out.

He didn't even realize it until she called him out and made him think. Made him really think about what he had been doing. How he lived his life and how he had fallen into those same ways.

Close himself off in the name of protecting others, but really, he's no better than her. He was protecting himself.

So he just remains silent, still unable to say anything. Or perhaps he knows anything he says will just make things worse.]

[She would strike him, she would give him this (albeit incredibly rude) wakeup call, and still, he just stands there and takes it? Doesn't even fight back? Has no witty, smug quips to bite back at her with? She isn't even sure that she wants him to, but to have nothing to say for himself at all?]

Take care, Cidolfus!

[Or she will do it again.

She wishes she could scream louder, but her own voice is broken by the sobs she's held in her chest through that long spell of silence that she falters slightly.]

You... You do not get to ask for any part of me if you are just going to walk off the fucking plank with it.

[She trusted him to protect that piece of her heart that she gave to him that night on the terrace, and then another when she flew to that overlook to meet him the very next night. Another piece when she opened that window for him when he was stuck out in the rain...

Too many, if she's frank, but she gave them anyway. She gave them because he had managed to convince some small part of her—the part of her that she has kept dead and buried that he has managed to revive—that she could try again. That they could try again...]

You speak to me of second chances, but where are they!?

[A small flinch at her words, for they strike deep. Deep through that wall he had built without even knowing it was there. Or maybe he did know, he just forgot about it over the years.

His first thought was to defend and counter against her in some capacity, that he was just doing the same things he always did. That the risks and such he takes are no less than the ones he's taken for the past six years, ten years, twenty, thirty, forty—his whole life.

Except he realized, they aren't the same. Because the path he walked in the past six years was one towards death.

You... You do not get to ask for any part of me if you are just going to walk off the fucking plank with it.

For so long he had lived finding a way to die on his own terms—

You speak to me of second chances, but where are they!?

—he had forgotten.

Cid, you once told me...that you wanted to build a place where people could die on their own terms.
I did.
I've been thinking about that. Why not a place where people can live on their own terms?

Clive...
For so long, I thought I had all the answers...but then I met you...
...and I learned it wasn't a good death we should be fighting for, but a better life.
It's all very well a man reclaiming his fate...but if he can't choose how he meets it...what's the point?

Life.

He had forgotten what it was like to live for a better life, a life for himself. He gave himself up and instead worked for everyone else, because at least they deserved their own chances, their own lives. Mid especially. How could he let his own daughter continue to live in such a messed up world? How could he not want to give her better opportunities when he had the power to make a change?

But himself?

When did he really ever consider it?

And as his gaze slowly lifts to meet hers—]

...You're right.

[—he remembers why, when, and who made him stop. Or at the very least was the last thread he had until it finally snapped. The last piece that closed that wall. It's not even really her fault, he knows that now. Knows that Barnabas played them both like fools and he was just the one who was able to break out it. The hurt still remains, but it lessens when he remembers that.

And even then, it didn't change the fact that even after, even when he failed to save her, he still tried. Tried to at least build that world for her fly in so that maybe, one day, she could see it. That maybe he would be able to get to her.

But he didn't.

And now, he was running that same risk despite all his talk.]

For too long I preached to others, I forgot to listen to my own words. ...And forgot what this second chance with you really means.

[He clenches his fist briefly before he lets out a breath.]

But I get it now. You showed me that—well, smacked it into me. And I needed that.

[He already paid his price with his death once.

Now he really should follow his words and seize this second chance—

To live by his own terms.]

[More silence. More of that goddamned silence that speaks so much more than words could ever hope to, and it infuriates her. For so long, he had always preached about having all the answers, for knowing what was best for her, for everyone—and yes, maybe in some ways he always did know, and Benedikta is (very) slowly coming to realize that now that she is no longer tethered to Barnabas—but now that she is coming to him looking for help to fly on her own, to find a place where she can say she belongs, and maybe, just maybe, wanting it to be at his side like she has always wanted to be, he has none of the answers!? Not a single one?

When did he manage to slither his way into her heart and change her so much? When did he find the opportunity to strike that she would not simply scoff at him for having nothing? That she would not take all of his feelings, chew them up, and spit them right back out at him?

When and how the fuck...

And when he lifts his gaze to meet hers...

"... You're right."

She should be doing a victory lap around him. She should be mocking him for being so stupid and blind to not have seen it all along... but instead, seeing him so defeated like this only pulls at her heart, draws out a light, angry sob from her chest, and wraps it around her lungs until she chokes.

She is right. She knows that. He has always been this way, and she has always hated it. Even when he put himself on the line for her—when he used his magic for her, or took a blow for her on a mission, she has always hated it. For as much as she loved everything else, she hated that part of him enough to match it, and now it has all come to a head, here and now, as he squeezes those pieces of her heart that she has given him as he risks his head, his life, again and again.

So, so tight that she can feel it.]

You never saw it.

[She wishes she had the strength to slap him again just for that.]

That it is not your choice to make.

[And this isn't just about her. It's about his daughter, too. And all the other people who depend on him the way that Benedikta had once.

... The way that she needs to now.]

You do not get to draw people in, only to leave them behind, Cidolfus.

[Not Midadol, not even the Rosfields or Shiva.

And especially not Benedikta. He has not earned that right.]

You do not get to offer me second chances, only to...

[She stops herself when she feels another light sob coming, her voice strained as she takes a whole step back from him and whirls around to hide the strain across her expression.]

Benedikta...

[He wishes he could offer more, but what can he when he was clearly in the wrong this time? That he had been going about it the wrong way?

Thinking on it further, maybe he really had been acting selfishly all along. Calls it living for others when it was just a guise for his own needs. Or maybe it was everything all twisted together, both true and not at the same time.

Whatever the case, he can't work like that anymore. Can't walk like he's ready to die and be fine with it.

And now as he stares at her back, unable to see her face but can imagine it from how tense and tight her body posture is, he again is at a loss of what to do. Does he reach out? Stay back? Seeking forgiveness seems pointless as this is not something she would forgive nor does he really want to ask for it. More words of promises? She's clearly tired of hearing them and won't likely believe them right now.

But when she makes those small sobs, trying so hard to hold back, he can't take it anymore and steps forward to strongly embrace her from behind, face burying into her hair.]

I know—now. I know I was wrong and treated you unfairly. I thought I was protecting you, but I only hurt you and everyone else instead.

I know I should do better, but when I see you like this—

[He squeezes her a little tighter.]

What else am I supposed to do?

[A single, surprised sob fights its way past her pressed lips, tasting metal on the inside when her jaw finally frees them, when he comes up from behind and wraps his arms around her. Tight. And then another when she feels him bury his face in her hair, the rumbling of his tenor burrowing deep into every bone in her body until slowly, she begins to crumble.

Seeing her like this...

Like this, so weak and frail, tears burning her eyes like they had so many years ago when she would cower in the shadows, fearful of his touch and the sadness in his eyes when he looked down at her. She didn't know how to accept his care or his love then, and she doesn't remember how to now. Maybe she never did understand, and that is why she lives with this regret still, and why she thought of him in her final moments...

She doesn't want his protection. She doesn't want his pity. She doesn't want his concern... The only thing that she wants...

The only thing that she has ever wanted...

When she feels him squeeze her tighter...

She finally breaks.

The sobs that she has been holding in come out full-force. Days and days and days of her fighting them off and it is only now that they come pouring out of her, in his arms. How fucking humiliating.

Yet, she can't stop. No matter how hard she presses her eyes into her palms, she can't stop them from boiling over.

And there is Garuda, loud as ever, screaming at her for being like this. Reminding her of what he had done, how she shouldn't forgive or forget what he and all the others have done. There are no such things as second chances... she should simply take what is rightfully hers without a care in the world for whose blood tips her claws.

That scares her, too...]

I don't need your protection, Cidolfus...!

[She needs his hand. His guidance. His strength when she should crumble to her knees. She needs his storm to sweep under her wings so that she may find a way to fly, boundless and free, how he claims he wants her to. She needs his perch to return to when all is said and done...

She needs his light in the dark to guide her there, because she has been flying within the darkness for so long that she is now more lost than she has ever been.]

I just... need you. Here. Somewhere.

[She always has. Whether it was with his hand around hers or their swords clashing, whether it was through love or hate, she just needed him here. There. Anywhere. Maybe not so much then, when her own judgement was poisoned by her anger and hurt, but here and now? In this world where he claims there are second chances? Hesitant though she is to believe it, she wants to... but how is she supposed to when he would so willingly take it away from her to save another?

How is she supposed to believe it when he refuses it for himself?

How is she supposed to accept it if he isn't here?

He, who is that final thread of her existence that has not yet completely unraveled. Damaged, certainly, but he still hangs on so stubbornly tight.

Tomorrow, she will regret ever saying this. Tomorrow, she will hate herself for admitting it aloud. But today, and these past week, she needs that ground to stand on.]

Edited 2023-11-21 21:05 (UTC)

[How her words spin him around, making him question everything he's done and needs to do. He'll never be able to shake off that urge to defend and protect others. That instinct to shield them and rebuke those who try to do the same to him. It's such a flawed view he knows now, but he's lived it for so long it would take a long time to allow others to move in his stead in equal capacity.

Yet that very thing js not what she wants.

She wants him to just be there—and she has a point. All this time he wanted to be that perch, that shelter in the wind, yet what good would he be if disappears? What purpose would he serve if he doesn't take care of himself to allow her that place?

Not just Benedikta, either.

Mid is now here in this world, and he had always regretted leaving her. He knew his time was coming and that was part of why he sent her to Kanver. So that should he ever meet his end, she wouldn't be there to see it. And that's exactly what happened.

And yet, seeing her in her grief when they met... It hit different compared to when Clive and Jill met him again. He didn't discard their joy and grief, but it was like small scratches that he moved forward from. Mid, however struck harder, deeper. Made him really regret he left her as he did. He did everything he could to ensure that everyone and everything would be taken care of should something ever happened to him, but...

...Sending Mid for her protection? No. It was for himself. He knew if he continued to see Mid around, his resolve would falter and he would hesitate. And that hesitation would only bring disaster.

Again he tells Benedikta to be okay with her weaknesses, yet he never dealt with his own. Not properly.

If he kept everyone away far enough, then he would be able to do what needs to be done without those hesitations. Just like she is trying to do.

Live. Perhaps this path is a lot harder than the path towards death...]

...All right.

[His voice is quiet, resigned...but also firm with some resolve. It will not be easy, especially towards her. He watched her die before him, failed every single attempt to try and help and save her—that's not something he'll be able to shake so easily, just like she won't be able to shake that sight of him under the guillotine. That doesn't mean he can't try. Still, he's having trouble voicing much more, so it might not sound satisfactory.]

Edited 2023-11-21 21:41 (UTC)

[It's not satisfactory at all, but Benedikta does not have it in her to scream that at him. Her throat hurts, and her chest hurts more, these sobs making it difficult to say anything at all. And while they have started to soften some, moved on to something weaker and quieter, they have yet to cease completely.

If anything...]

Is that all you have to say?

[Just "all right"? She is not looking for an apology, nor is she looking for sympathy. She has spent years wishing he would simply stop talking, that he would stop with his speeches and his lectures about good, about wanting to build a different world, but now, when it actually matters, all he has to say is "all right"?

It isn't good enough for her. It's so fucking infuriating, but then again, what even is? He's right—what is he supposed to do and say that will console her? She could tell him to prove himself, that his words are not enough for her to trust that he will not pull something like that again, especially after she had made such grand strides in an effort to move herself a little closer to that line that she draws between them, but what good will that do? Even she knows that it's an empty promise until he actually does something about it.

But it's made her pull back, and now she's stuck again...]

What does that mean?

What can I say?

[Because he knows anything he says whether his own thoughts or to try and comfort her will just be met with more anger and yelling.

So really, what can he say? And would he even want to right now?]

You were right and all I can do is try and change things. Just know it's not going to be easy for me, just like it's not easy for you. Doesn't mean I won't try, but it's not something that will happen overnight.

[Just like he knows she can't change overnight.]

[Her shoulders rise... and then fall with a cross between a sob and a sigh. Relief? Frustration? Both? She has no idea—she is a whole damn mess of emotions right now and she is ashamed that he is seeing her this way. Stronger... she wanted to be stronger... to prove to him that she didn't need him, yet here she is begging him to stay. Begging him to stop putting himself in harm's way because she does, she does, she does need him.

She wishes that she didn't.

She wishes that she could spin around in his arms and tell him this was all a ruse—a lie to prove a point, but the thought of him not being here? Not being in this world when nothing else remains that is familiar to her makes her whole world off kilter, everything crooked and messy and utterly terrifying.

She does turn in his arms, though not to slap him or to spit his feelings back out at him. She's silent, her eyes as red and swollen as they have been all week as she searches his expression. Tries to look deep to find the truth, and whether this is it. There is anger there still, and it may never fully disappear, but it is nothing compared to the fear that swirls around in her gaze.

Her lips part to say something, but at first, nothing comes out but a small, stifled sob that rattles in her chest.

What is she supposed to say to that? She doesn't have any answers for him either. In the end, they are both stuck in similar boats. Being pushed back, and needing to take those steps forward, back to that line that they keep themselves at... but not knowing how to do it.

Not knowing what to say, what to do, how to do it. They have been so bruised, so broken by each other for so long that they have forgotten what it means to be there for each other when they need them most.

He has forgotten how to stand on his own, just like she has her own.

And while they couldn't be more different, his for the sake of others and Benedikta for herself, at the end of the day, what is the difference?

At the end of the day, what is it all for?]

You are the last thing...

[He could stand here and call her selfish all he wants for this, but it is the truth.]

Edited 2023-11-22 01:10 (UTC)

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