[ — he buries them, slow and soft, into her hair and holds her face between his palms. ]
I did not know. I did not ask, and you did not say —
[ She cannot go home. She does not want to go home. ]
I am so sorry, Rudbeckia de Borgia. For not being there to protect you. I promised I would shelter you, and you were forced into this position because I failed to keep my word.
[ His feet carry him closer to her, in that dark place. Meridian scalds within him, turning him warm, turning him horrifyingly brilliant — a dark sun, one that emulates the thing that leers over the dead world that they had been forced into, to scour and scrape for a few days of survival for. Set's thumb strokes across her dirty cheek, the resolve within him that of a man who clings to her for validation as much as she clutches at him for safety. In the horror of the Oracle-enhanced Communion, he cannot hide how much he depends on her for meaning. How she gives him that most secret of joys: the chance to be better, to be what he once was to Egypt. A protector, a guardian.
Slowly, he draws her to his shoulder. To the place against his chest where the red of his Shard emulates a heart that had long been torn out, jagged and positioned precisely over the shuddering flinch of his pulse. ]
I wish I had been worthy enough, for you to just tell me that you did not want to go home. I would have spared you this agony, and simply taken you with me to mine.
2/2
I did not know. I did not ask, and you did not say —
[ She cannot go home. She does not want to go home. ]
I am so sorry, Rudbeckia de Borgia. For not being there to protect you. I promised I would shelter you, and you were forced into this position because I failed to keep my word.
[ His feet carry him closer to her, in that dark place. Meridian scalds within him, turning him warm, turning him horrifyingly brilliant — a dark sun, one that emulates the thing that leers over the dead world that they had been forced into, to scour and scrape for a few days of survival for. Set's thumb strokes across her dirty cheek, the resolve within him that of a man who clings to her for validation as much as she clutches at him for safety. In the horror of the Oracle-enhanced Communion, he cannot hide how much he depends on her for meaning. How she gives him that most secret of joys: the chance to be better, to be what he once was to Egypt. A protector, a guardian.
Slowly, he draws her to his shoulder. To the place against his chest where the red of his Shard emulates a heart that had long been torn out, jagged and positioned precisely over the shuddering flinch of his pulse. ]
I wish I had been worthy enough, for you to just tell me that you did not want to go home. I would have spared you this agony, and simply taken you with me to mine.