[In the end, even something that's empty can overflow. A vessel can just as easily be changed by its contents. Their blood was purged by the sap of the dying tree and they became its trimmings. The pesky matter of her own will has been grown over now, too, as how skin purges an embedded splinter.
Caren can only truly forgive harm that is done against her. Other sins are not a weight with a tally she can erase herself, but someone must be there to witness the labor of repentance as it is recorded. Someone must be there to see it, the rulings of that sterile and judgmental love that punishes at it sees fit. If that was all erased suddenly, the toil of it all would go unrecorded. There is a man out there who would love that: the futility of struggle being incinerated. Ex nihilo nihil fit.
Her nails dig into the skin of his wrist, though the only thing they will unearth no matter how hard they claw is more light. She certainly loses consciousness, at some point - at the very least, the awareness of all that is happening or has happened escapes her, though her eyes remain open through all of it, and she doesn't look away from a single moment of cruel rejection. She can feel the creaking screams of everything he ruined.
In pressing the last of her will to resist Meridian from her, it would seem they become inextricable somewhere. She lacks the strength to withdraw from him, and his mind eats its own tail around hers. Even if she wanted to, there isn't enough energy between them to separate the link. Unable even to speak out loud, Caren finds that she doesn't need to, as something like Communion along the length of a thought exposed and painful as a raw nerve is enough.
Will you rest now? You will need the strength to think of the meaning of this dream once you're awake.
This is what it feels like, the scrape of her thoughts along this exposed synapse, a nail curving along bone: Confined to a bed in a cold stone room, one sees the light through the window but no longer feels its warmth. There are no breezes that reach within the four walls. One forgets what it feels like to wake up to a meaningful morning. Why is it so important that this day is different from the last?
The moment he releases her, she'll lack the strength to stand. Yet she can somehow still find purchase in his hair, the way he touched her at the beginning, not like tugging at a tail but like choking a rabid dog on its chain. They are going to sink into this earth together.
Rejoice, Set. Together, we will see the world last long enough for the interest on your debt to accrue.
And he is going to need to rest and recover, for that.]
no subject
Caren can only truly forgive harm that is done against her. Other sins are not a weight with a tally she can erase herself, but someone must be there to witness the labor of repentance as it is recorded. Someone must be there to see it, the rulings of that sterile and judgmental love that punishes at it sees fit. If that was all erased suddenly, the toil of it all would go unrecorded. There is a man out there who would love that: the futility of struggle being incinerated. Ex nihilo nihil fit.
Her nails dig into the skin of his wrist, though the only thing they will unearth no matter how hard they claw is more light. She certainly loses consciousness, at some point - at the very least, the awareness of all that is happening or has happened escapes her, though her eyes remain open through all of it, and she doesn't look away from a single moment of cruel rejection. She can feel the creaking screams of everything he ruined.
In pressing the last of her will to resist Meridian from her, it would seem they become inextricable somewhere. She lacks the strength to withdraw from him, and his mind eats its own tail around hers. Even if she wanted to, there isn't enough energy between them to separate the link. Unable even to speak out loud, Caren finds that she doesn't need to, as something like Communion along the length of a thought exposed and painful as a raw nerve is enough.
Will you rest now? You will need the strength to think of the meaning of this dream once you're awake.
This is what it feels like, the scrape of her thoughts along this exposed synapse, a nail curving along bone: Confined to a bed in a cold stone room, one sees the light through the window but no longer feels its warmth. There are no breezes that reach within the four walls. One forgets what it feels like to wake up to a meaningful morning. Why is it so important that this day is different from the last?
The moment he releases her, she'll lack the strength to stand. Yet she can somehow still find purchase in his hair, the way he touched her at the beginning, not like tugging at a tail but like choking a rabid dog on its chain. They are going to sink into this earth together.
Rejoice, Set. Together, we will see the world last long enough for the interest on your debt to accrue.
And he is going to need to rest and recover, for that.]