#she's trying

Continued // @fallesto

So all her hopes had withered to nothing. Nunnally had known it would end this way long before it did. His steps echoed along the floor, slow and unhurried, and inevitable, and she knew Aerion would come to this room, to this bed, where she lay curled beneath blankets that concealed nothing. They offered no protection, no refuge, not even the mercy of illusion. Still, she clutched them as though they could save her, because there was nothing else left to hold on to. All Nunnally could do was delay him. Delay the inevitable. Even if it was futile. Even if it was wrong.

The door opened without haste, and the prince entered.

The outside clung to him: the chill of morning, the stale heat of his body, and above it, the bitter scent of red wine as he poured himself a glass. He moved as though nothing in the world could resist him. As though nothing ever had. Nunnally did not move. Not willingly. Not even when every muscle in her body begged her to flee. If he thought her asleep… perhaps --

No!; Aerion would wake her. Yet, Nunnally lay there, rigid, breath shallow, as the wings at her back twitched; restless and treacherous things that refused stillness, as though they belonged to some other creature. Not her!; (but of course they were not hers).

“Are you awake?”; his voice cut through the room. She said nothing. Silence stretched. No. That would not work. Silence would only bring his hands upon her, dragging her from the bed as though she weighed nothing at all. The panic rose, hot and suffocating, clawing up her throat. There was nothing she could do. No choice. No escape.

“I… I am awake, Your Highness…” – her voice betrayed her at once; shaking, uneven, and simply wrong. Nunnally could hear it herself, how it fractured under the weight of her fear. There was no hiding it. Not from him.

“I am… unwell.”

The words felt small and useless. The prince would not care. Aerion had never cared. Her pain, her body, her exhaustion: none of it ever mattered. She was not a person to him. Only something to be used, worn down, discarded, and summoned again. Still —

“I think… I am sick, Your Highness.” – Nunnally forced out, her breath catching – “Perhaps I should not come near you… not today… perhaps for several days…” – the lie trembled, thin as glass.

“Perhaps… it would be better… if Your Highness left.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she felt the danger of them. She should have risen. Should have knelt before him, head bowed, silent and obedient. That was what was required. No! Even the smallest chance – no matter how foolish – was all Nunnally had left. And then --

The wings.

If he saw them…

The thought alone hollowed her chest. She could not stop it. Could not keep from imagining it: his gaze, sharpening; the stillness before violence; the quiet, terrible understanding. She had changed without his leave. Grown something that was not given. An offense. He had killed for less. Her breath hitched, breaking into something close to a sob. Would he kill her now?

“Your Highness…” – her voice faltered, barely more than air – “Please…” – the word collapsed in on itself.

She wants to touch his arm in sympathy; she knows better and wraps her arms around herself instead.

4-Word Sentence Prompts ; always accepting ; @shinnogi

. ———— мѕнαяυησ

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ⌠⦾⌡—— She's not surprised at the response, but she swallows her uncertainties - they can form later if things fall through and don't go as planned. She always would try with her foot forward first after all.

‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ Her smile pushes to her lips, half with genuine intent and the other to ward off the possibility of negative out comes. ❝ Well, I just thought you'd like somewhere to sit where there's less eyes on you - Thought maybe my office room might let you try and relax. ❞ Her hand kind of gestured out to the quiet simple room, bookshelves and medical supplies and scrolls about - her feet carrying her further across to move said scrolls off of the small simple sofa-like-bed using the notion as a distraction for a moment so she could stand with her back to him putting the scrolls away as she spoke on.

‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ❝ I know I might be meddling a bit too much, so you don't have to but there's a meal on my desk there for you - seen as you're mostly done with all your check ups. You should recuperate. ❞ Not bringing up that he was being discharged and thus this was his last stop now before he could return to his home, they both knew that - but wanted to use the last of her position within the medic facility to reach out a bit more in less of a professional approach.

"Helllllo"

"Hello."

"So,I was wondering if you had some unstructured time, I'd like to show you something?"

"What?"

"... well for one there's a new dance"

          she  hadn’t  meant  to  leave  him  alone  with  the  killer.   honest!   it’s  simply  an  unfortunate  coincidence  that’s …   exactly  what  ended  up  happening.   

          mi - kyung  did  not  consider  herself  to  be  a  particularly  guiding  presence.   never  sought  after — at  worst,   actively  avoided.   and  this  was  fine.   she  would  take  care  of  herself  first  and  foremost,   by  herself.   the  others  knew  well  enough  how  things  operate here.   would  not  flock  to  her  with  flighty  demands  she  cannot  and  will  not  supply.   

          so  when  the  responsibility  of  shepherding  a  new  lost  sheep  back  from  hellish  pasture  befell  upon  her  for  the  evening,   it  did  not  necessarily  inspire  confidence.   she  found  him  there,   someone  she  had  never  seen  before.   confused.   out - of - place.   not  unlike  herself  just   ███  before.   oh,   great.   she’s  on  the  welcoming  committee.   but,   god,  she  had  tried!   gentle  in  approach,   clear  in  explanation.   even  when  it  felt  silly  to  metaphorically  hold  a  grown  man’s  hand  when  he  easily  could  have  found  a  better  teacher.   and  the  generator  she  showed  him  how  to  fix  would  have  been  completed  if  someone  hadn’t  intervened. 

          a  command  to  run.   she  went  left.   he  went  right.   and the  killer  made  a  decision.

          did  she  feel  a  little  bad  she  had  basically  let  them  harass  the  new  guy  instead  of  her when she could've prevented that?   yes!  it’s  not  like  she  was  trying  to  get  him  murdered.

          … would  she  do  differently  if  given  the  opportunity?   well,  she  had  to  protect  herself,   too.   

          chance  was  inside  the  chapel  now — that’s  where  she  spotted  him  after  the  fact.   alone.   perhaps  not  unscathed,   but  in  one  piece.   ignoring  the  pang  of  guilt  resonating  within,   she  rushes  over.   ❝  hey!   hey,   you  got  away.  that — that’s  good.  ❞   she  presents  the  first - aid  kit.   offers  a  nervous  smile.  ❝  i - i’m sorry  we  got  separated —  are  you  hurt?  ❞   do  you  totally  hate  me  already? because you have to understand that wasn't entirely my fault.