Surtr Muspelson stood before the alabaster memorial statue, inlaid with gold and silver filigree, the black enamel paint that stained the frozen likeness of hair and robes flaked from age and repeated acid rain. "Jenetia,,, could you ever forgive this tired old man, for being not there when you called?" The ancient Terran, thousands of years having come and gone, finally stood on him home world,, only to find memorials and graves, of those who he would call friends and allies. (@marcusmettalus )
Jenetia Krole stands to the side, watching impassively. There is neither judgement nor mercy in her gaze, for she left such things behind long ago. The ages have not been kind to her. Her silver armour is tarnished, the aquila tattoo on her forehead faded to pale scarlet. Only Veracity remains as she has always been, immutable.
There is no forgiveness, she signs in Thoughtmark. There is no proloquor to give voice to the words, has not been since she buried the last. Only learning to live beneath the weight of our sins.
@marcusmettalus
