#facingday

❝     Hey   .   .   .    P ?     ❞        Her  hair  rolls  over  her  shoulders  in  waves,   bunches  of  cumulus  clouds  at  sunset.   She  idly  plays  with  the  string  of  her  tea  bag,  wrapping  it  around  her  index  finger.       ❝     How’d  you  prepare  for  the  sort  of  life  Steven  was  going  to  lead ?  I’m  trying  to  wrap  my  head  around  it.     ❞       For  her  own  sake,   she  thinks.   She  empathizes  with  the  boy  more  than  she’d  like  to  admit.      ❝     It’s  just  .    .    .   A  big  legacy  to  fulfill,    you  know ?   Living  in  that  light,     not,   uh  .   .   .   Not  knowing  what  comes  next.    ❞      

nonsense,   she   doesn't  say.   pure  nonsense.   she  dare  not  deny  it,   though.   she  has  excuses,   but  they  come  unsaid:

what  will  they  think  of  me?   what  am  i  if  not   what  others  think  of  me?   it's  not  shame,   it's   but  a  duty:   to  keep  an  image,   a  reputation,   surely  the  other  is  aware?   to live  with  the  heavy  weight  of  expectations  on  your  shoulders  that   do  nothing  but  pain  you,   day  by  day?

but  it  wouldn’t  be  very  smart  to  be  defensive,   either.   the  advice  has  come  mildly  unsolicited  and  it  isn’t  in  claudine’s  interest  to  act  like  she’s  any  affected  by  it.   she’s  not,   not  at  all!   promise!

...that's  when  claudine  realizes  she's  perhaps  thought  about  it  a  little  bit  too  long,   for  her  standards.

does  performing  with  hesitation  make  the  audience  happy?

saijou  claudine  looks  to  pearl — her  audience — and  sighs.

Brimstone,  embers,  fireglow.   Heat rolling off in waves,  walls lined with rows and rows of weapons,  sharp teeth glinting in the orange glow with an implicit threat.   And she’s working on another,  ready to be stuck within the hungry maw of war  -  another sword,  another soldier armed,  another life on the line.   How can she be sure?    How can any of them?

Bismuth stops sharpening the blade.   She lets go of it,  lets it rest and walks toward Pearl  -  and yet,  there is a split moment,  a promise made as she glances back towards it.  It’s a promise of return.   There’s no running away. 

For a moment,  she doesn’t know what to say,  just looking at him,  a hint of worry in her eyes.   But then,  closing her eyes, trying to shield herself from memories of what was before,  shield from worry for what comes next, she speaks.   “ Was what we had before a life at all? ”   When she opens her eyes again,  there’s still that same trace of concern,  but there’s something more,  a spark of fervor   ( and all it takes is a spark to ignite a wildfire ).   She’s made her choice,  hundreds of years ago when she pledged herself to Rose,  years after that on the night before her first big battle,  yesterday,  today,   now.  She makes the choice every day,  and she’d make it a thousand times over. 

@facingday  /   blog rates ! (accepting)

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