eden’s spun a thousand wistful stories quite like these: you’re so awesome, so very talented, we love you so much! all those other people were idiots for hurting you, what you said was right and their cruelty merely blinds them! it’s a bitter denial of the truth, a puppet show only visible when she closes her eyes and allows her mind to drift. reality paints a glum picture: a string of defenses always in her pocket, ready to whip out when someone opens their mouth around her; a thickened heart, where knives and nails won’t even penetrate the upper cement layer, unable to reach precious porcelain; and, of course, the ability to shut out anyone, at any time, and render them forgotten. interpersonal relationships simply weren’t for her.
it’s exactly why eden doesn’t anticipate reciprocity. their bonding may have seemed genuine, but what would a sweet, kind, empathetic woman like anya want with someone as cruel and mean as her?
it doesn’t stop her from granting aid, despite that self-doubt. and when technology almost gives the ghost, eden ties back her hair, puts on antistatic gloves, and vivisects whatever machine’s on life support. this time, it’s anya’s handheld. god, they spent so much time staring at that tiny screen, she would hate it if they could never do that again. piece by piece she takes it apart, aligning every component in their own order, keeping its architecture intact even when it’s dissected on her table.
she may be fixated on repair, but anya’s presence in the room is soothing. her queries are answered in time, and any and all conversation persists in spite of eden’s concentration landing elsewhere. it may take an additional tick or two, but she tries. it matters to her.
“ i think … it’s done. ” what an intense repair. never had fixing a magical mixture of plastic and minerals given her heart palpitations before. but… she couldn’t imagine disappointing anya, not in a million years. her smile is coy as she presents it back to her, “ give it a try! ”
the device exchanges hands, and their thumbs brush against one another. for one reason or another, eden doesn’t want to let go. not yet.
“ you are, without a doubt, the coolest person i will ever know. ”
@nightskyscreen’s sweet voice carries those words so beautifully, and the smile that accompanies it stops eden dead in her tracks.
another bitter truth must be swallowed, now: eden has no idea how to respond to compliments. her eyebrows fly up, and her mouth hangs slightly ajar. her pupils dilate while she almost gawks at anya for a moment, sincere in her uncertainty. it takes longer than it should for her to compose herself, and the humiliation which engulfs her spirit is visible. she shrinks somewhat, shoulders pulling together, blood pooling into her cheeks… like a malfunctioning robot. maybe someone needs to fix her wires.
“ y– you … you’re serious? oh, i-i don’t mean to be dismissive or anything, uh… ” the french inflection of her speech thickens, and she trips over syllables, words, intentions. “ i—- i just … you’re such an amazing woman, i don’t … i didn’t expect you to—- think of me so highly. huh. ”
we’re so different. can’t you see that? can’t you see you deserve better?
“ but … that… that means a lot to me, anya. more than you might, uh— ever know. merci beaucoup, chérie. ”
the unknown. + accepting.
