[ in the echo of his words, she hears Cesare's voice. his warm moments, his gentle chiding, the things that frightened her just as much as his violence. and with that on her mind, the awareness of someone else's irritation directed at her spurs her into action. she scrambles upright, on her hands and knees, half-expecting to see her brother and thinking for one split second of madness that the red eyes belong to her husband instead: ]
Signor... Archangel?
[ she remembers him. he'd shown himself to her back then, as though he were offering shelter; that patient demeanour and compassionate speech so reminiscent of any priest. he had made her uncomfortable in that sense, no more than that. another face to avoid amidst all the others.
now the sight of his wings causes her to shudder, curling towards him and in on herself like a child. there's a fresh nausea that crashes over her, a fear that would be too vague and complex to unravel in any other situation — but with the state of their Communion as it is, no boundaries to separate their thoughts, the picture is clearer because Archangel experiences it himself. fear of something familiar. the image of God and His saints, feeling watched and judged and found wanting, lashings from sharp tongues and blunt instruments, expecting that someday Hell would open up right beneath her—
would she be free of all that, in a new world? ]
I'm sorry. I-I know this is unseemly. [ she slides her thumb past her teeth, presses down on her tongue for a moment and then releases it with a shivery exhale. ] I'm trying...
no subject
Signor... Archangel?
[ she remembers him. he'd shown himself to her back then, as though he were offering shelter; that patient demeanour and compassionate speech so reminiscent of any priest. he had made her uncomfortable in that sense, no more than that. another face to avoid amidst all the others.
now the sight of his wings causes her to shudder, curling towards him and in on herself like a child. there's a fresh nausea that crashes over her, a fear that would be too vague and complex to unravel in any other situation — but with the state of their Communion as it is, no boundaries to separate their thoughts, the picture is clearer because Archangel experiences it himself. fear of something familiar. the image of God and His saints, feeling watched and judged and found wanting, lashings from sharp tongues and blunt instruments, expecting that someday Hell would open up right beneath her—
would she be free of all that, in a new world? ]
I'm sorry. I-I know this is unseemly. [ she slides her thumb past her teeth, presses down on her tongue for a moment and then releases it with a shivery exhale. ] I'm trying...