[it may be an old truth that there's no honor in retreat, but there's no honor in anything that had happened just now, either.
manipulators, exploiters, and everything in between have been frequent figures in the story of her life — and, frankly, she can't say she's surprised to find another one here, lurking in this chamber, just waiting for the opportunity to strike at the first potentially vulnerable soul he encounters. she's not surprised, and that's what has anger continuing to burn in her veins long after the encounter is over. a man like that, the thought sticks in the forefront of her mind, her teeth still gnashing together, doesn't deserve to live.
then again — that thought, as automatic in its surfacing as breath, is also the problem.
because there'd been no honor in her own behavior, either; she's better than this. she's better than such violence as a first response, better than leaning into the ghosts of the worst of her when faced with a conflict.
(no, she isn't. she isn't any better at all.)
in the aftermath, her breaths shuddering as they fight against a tightening chest, her priority is to seek out a corner of this chamber where she can be alone, where she can tend to her own wounds and catch her breath, set to work on willing her hands to stop shaking so she can wrap a piece of torn cloth over the gash on her arm.
of course, that empty corner isn't what she gets; a man is already here, and there's no honor in trying to get him to leave. so, instead, she says nothing at all, focusing on the hand, as poorly as she is.]
> cassian.
manipulators, exploiters, and everything in between have been frequent figures in the story of her life — and, frankly, she can't say she's surprised to find another one here, lurking in this chamber, just waiting for the opportunity to strike at the first potentially vulnerable soul he encounters. she's not surprised, and that's what has anger continuing to burn in her veins long after the encounter is over. a man like that, the thought sticks in the forefront of her mind, her teeth still gnashing together, doesn't deserve to live.
then again — that thought, as automatic in its surfacing as breath, is also the problem.
because there'd been no honor in her own behavior, either; she's better than this. she's better than such violence as a first response, better than leaning into the ghosts of the worst of her when faced with a conflict.
(no, she isn't. she isn't any better at all.)
in the aftermath, her breaths shuddering as they fight against a tightening chest, her priority is to seek out a corner of this chamber where she can be alone, where she can tend to her own wounds and catch her breath, set to work on willing her hands to stop shaking so she can wrap a piece of torn cloth over the gash on her arm.
of course, that empty corner isn't what she gets; a man is already here, and there's no honor in trying to get him to leave. so, instead, she says nothing at all, focusing on the hand, as poorly as she is.]