#v 003.

her hands tremble. she finds nothing to steady herself. explanations had always come easier when speaking for others. even now she cannot see an easy answer. the stars? (no, consistent as they may be.) the risen? (of course not. they’re losing their minds, haven’t you heard?) the awoken? (tempting…but her experience with them makes her doubt such a choice.) why not the voices that whisper in your ear, the images that make their home in your brain, the dreams that turn into nightmares during your most vulnerable of moments? she glances away as if looking at the gunslinger is why the voices speak. 

she is desperate to hold wu ming’s hand. desperate to have anything to grasp that will keep her in the moment. she chews the inside of her cheek. twists her gloved hands under the excuse of thinking. the man before her did not intimidate her. perhaps he was terrifying to others - he certainly carried an air of fear on his shoulders - but he was not to her. he merely made her uncomfortable, as any stranger did now. who did she know she could trust? who could she truly believe?

“i believe in words. the ability to explain your thoughts, your truths, your secrets.” it was all she had, even now. 

they sit by the fire, still disguising their actions beneath the necessity of survival. his arm is resting just behind her and she’s leaning against his shoulder. they say it’s just so they’re warm, a half truth they could almost believe. (did they say it for themselves or the ears that always listened?) he is softness and comfort and something she’s missed in a way she can’t explain. 

namqi had listened to her fears and worries and nightmares. listened, but not believed. mara would shrug the concerns away. say exhaustion was the culprit. wu ming, however, gave an ear, provided a shoulder, became a valuable companion. they held onto each other as if letting go would be the end of it all. the fear of it being true prevented them from moving. he is a pillar of support she could not see herself without.

it’s the difference in how he holds himself, she thinks, that intrigues her. he doesn’t fully pretend to be disconnected. he keeps his own guard up while convincing everyone around him that they’re an exception. it’s almost charming to see him weave words so beautifully. (was that how he reeled her in?)

with her, he seemingly closes the world off and makes it feel like it’s just the two of them. she finds herself melting into his existence more than she should. he is, undoubtedly, the most important person in her life. she would spend the rest of her time at his side, if given the chance, listen as long as he was willing to talk. and speak in the silence when he listens. 

he grounds her. the small moments of his hand on hers. his breath on her cheek as he moves to whisper in her ear. the pressure of his hand on the small of her back as they dance to music they pretend to hear. his heartbeat becomes her metronome as she shares her stories in an attempt to make sense of her dreams.

(does he listen out of pity? he must.)

“truly?” she asks, with slight doubt on her face. “and what image do you think would be drawn in the stars?”

- v 001. - her time as nasya sarwar, human. follows her life from childhood to the day she went to sleep in a cryopod.

- v 002. - nasan ar, translator of the awoken, confidant of the queen. from the moment she woke to the moment nasan died.

- v 003. - orin the risen. more severely touched by the influence of the nine as the centuries pass. lost within her own emotions. until orin the lost.