a page from a journal, edges scorched

1. the isolation throughout childhood and a very odd (/affectionate) coven with very non-traditional concepts of gender. i mean come on. they were raised by a big ole polycule who lived in the woods all alone. no way they weren't all getting weird about gender. huge whiplash when they got into the real world and were told to be more ladylike. faust vc What the hell are you talking about. yk now that i think about it the childhood demand-avoidance probably coincided with the genders. if someone tried to explain gender norms to them, they would simply do everything they could to be the complete opposite.

and 2. a love and appreciation of all things. insatiable!! genderfluid for the sake of wanting to experience as much as possible! no limitations! to a faust, life is too short to have one set of pronouns! gender as an exciting, ever-changing thing they can't get enough of!

He's pretty vocal and open about his gender. Very few things Faust ISN'T loud about tbh. He expresses it in his Weirdness. Oddness. Other-ness. to faust, gender is wearing something entirely out of season or letting their hair grow wild or putting on too much makeup for a trip to the market or wearing big clunky boots to a fancy ball. it is about Being As Much Faust As Possible.

—not important right now? Can you walk? Is that a stupid question? They don't even have time to think of the answer before Faust answers it herself.

Their breath... catches. That's the best way they can describe it, though it has never happened before. It doesn't hurt, it just frightens them, because they want to breathe they're supposed to breathe they probably need to breathe or is that also not important right now—

They try again and the breath goes in with a shrill noise.

"Stop", they say, voice small; then they draw another breath, a deeper one, and shout: "Stop! You have to stop, you can't—stop talking!"

They're shaking. Little shivers all along their shoulders and hands and spine and deep inside their chest where their breaths keep catching and their heart is pounding so fast they think it has to be about to explode. This is it, then, it didn't work and they're going to die. They are so very scared.

"Sorry. Sorry, no more, I swear, I'm sorry," she says, likely too quiet and muffled by her own hand to be heard properly. That's probably for the best.

Her other hand draws a sigil in the air ( comfort, care ), a soothing little habit of her own that she's not sure translates the same to others - but the gesture is made before she can consider that, and she stops herself from asking Remembrance about it by keeping her hand firmly in place.

When they sit - fall, more like, - Faust mirrors the posture, but keeps his hands and thoughts to themselves. Sure. Here works too. They can sit here. Yeah. For sure.

Their terror is evident and all the more concerning when they seem to think they're already at the end of their short life. This is a good time to share a thought, right? As long as it isn't another question? That seems fair, right? And it seems very important for Remembrance to know that -

"You're not dying!" they unclamp their mouth to blurt that out, and then immediately cover it again just in case. And then repeat the motion to add quietly, "You're not dying, Rem. You're just freaked out. Scared. Makes it hard to breathe sometimes, but it'll pass."