[ A warning, in more ways than one, the hand (fine-boned, nimble, strong) which collides with his own, a jolt passing through the whole of him in the instant they touch. She is a whirlwind—beautiful, chaotic, and bright—their second's worth of mana exchange taking from him his breath even as her words seize his heart. He'd known, of course, that his offering would inspire her anger (and how he hurts on her behalf, for what must she have weathered, for the simple idea of care and of aid to spurn her so?), but what he hadn't at all foreseen had been a will to protect him, buried somewhere within that ire.
He does not want to be down that path? But he has walked it all this time and walks it still, unable to move anywhere save for forward. Flexing his fingers (curling, then stretching, the gesture as lovely as any of the motions he makes), he considers it, what he's felt, making no move to advance where she's fallen back a pace. ]
It is not that you need for anyone, Alice, but rather— [ Though he is only ever gentle with her, and will only ever continue to be, there is something unshakable in his voice, his will to protect her resolute: ] —the opposite, really. You are so strong that you do not acknowledge when you need for rest, to care for yourself. For so very long, you have carried the weight of the world upon your shoulders that you do not know that...
[ He lowers his eyes, smiling, acutely aware of actualization of her mana into magic, the murky dark which effloresces from beneath her feet, taking shape about her. ]
You needn't do it alone. [ Never, not here, not where there were so many who cared for her, would help her to tame her own demons, those nightmares borne from her imagination; her mind. ] Do you not see it, Alice?
[ For he does.
And, at first, he will confess to thinking the vision is his own, that the blooms, coils, and tendrils of red which swell up from the dark are indicative of the Other Realm, the landscape which the monster inside of him once walked, black-armored and trudging through the blood, gore, and mire that was the back of an old God, dead and decomposing; the true world which he would one day return to.
But not now, not yet, this is... ]
The realm where you once turned your eyes... [ No longer is he looking at her, but with her, following her line of sight. ] ...is before us now.
A corridor, red and pulsing like a thing alive, and along the way, wire-paned doors, all of them sealed and closed.
[ He is distant in observation, then, somehow sad: ]
no subject
He does not want to be down that path? But he has walked it all this time and walks it still, unable to move anywhere save for forward. Flexing his fingers (curling, then stretching, the gesture as lovely as any of the motions he makes), he considers it, what he's felt, making no move to advance where she's fallen back a pace. ]
It is not that you need for anyone, Alice, but rather— [ Though he is only ever gentle with her, and will only ever continue to be, there is something unshakable in his voice, his will to protect her resolute: ] —the opposite, really. You are so strong that you do not acknowledge when you need for rest, to care for yourself. For so very long, you have carried the weight of the world upon your shoulders that you do not know that...
[ He lowers his eyes, smiling, acutely aware of actualization of her mana into magic, the murky dark which effloresces from beneath her feet, taking shape about her. ]
You needn't do it alone. [ Never, not here, not where there were so many who cared for her, would help her to tame her own demons, those nightmares borne from her imagination; her mind. ] Do you not see it, Alice?
[ For he does.
And, at first, he will confess to thinking the vision is his own, that the blooms, coils, and tendrils of red which swell up from the dark are indicative of the Other Realm, the landscape which the monster inside of him once walked, black-armored and trudging through the blood, gore, and mire that was the back of an old God, dead and decomposing; the true world which he would one day return to.
But not now, not yet, this is... ]
The realm where you once turned your eyes... [ No longer is he looking at her, but with her, following her line of sight. ] ...is before us now.
A corridor, red and pulsing like a thing alive, and along the way, wire-paned doors, all of them sealed and closed.
[ He is distant in observation, then, somehow sad: ]
All of them bearing hearts.