[ He settles a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. ]
I'm sorry. Even if you can still be with her... it's a terrible loss.
[ He manages to say that, speak before another memory slips forward.
You wake up, and it's to a hand around your neck and the ominous glint of a blade in the moonlight.
It's the first time you've woken up like this. You're maybe five, or six years old, and you're filled with fear first, and panic second.
But you still know better than to scream.
You slap the arm that's keeping you pinned to your bed, and it doesn't do much, except wherever that knife misses wherever it was meant to cut, slashing deep and bloody over your chest instead, pain slicing through your veins as your legs kick out, earning a grunt of pain when they connect with—something soft and human.
The situation starts to take shape in your head, and something else seeps in around the fear: fury. Indignation. Rage that anyone would do this to you- you're a prince.
You kick again before your attacker manages to shield himself, into that same spot, another more pronounced cry of pain. But the reason your shadow stuck close was because this time, he lodges his blade into your shoulder, and it burns so much that you lose track of everything else. How hard your fists are beating into the arm around your neck. How furiously your legs are kicking at the shape above you until eventually it staggers back.
And against all odds, you get up too. The knife wasn't driven deep enough to stay in place when you move, and suddenly it's very accessible.
Suddenly the knife is in your hand and you're screaming, launching forward and you know that you hurt him, some where, some amount of times because there's blood spraying over your floors different from the droplets dripping from your own clothes. But you're only a child, and when the fog clears from your head you realize that the would-be assassin is gone.
It's just you, covered in blood and left without a scratch.
Claude startles as it fades, stepping back so that he doesn't accidentally tighten his grip, his other hand going up to his chest. ]
[ He's not the only one who flinches back to attention as the memory fades. It's one that sits heavily, makes her feel a little sick as she works to separate her thoughts and feelings from a much younger Claude's. One hand mirrors his, pressed against her chest.
That's not... what a child should be going through. That's-- ]
Claude...
[ It's vaguely questioning, but she isn't asking for an explanation. She isn't asking for reassurance. Otome just gazes at him, and the prevalent emotion is concern. ]
[ This could be cute, except Otome is more concerned about the tension she sees in his everything so instead of like lacing their fingers together or something, she's just firmly but gently pressing and massaging at each individual finger to see if that helps. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Would you believe me if I said I've li-- experienced two different resets of my world?
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You mean... had time rewound?
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When things were reset, they were alive again, so the event where I adopted her never actually happened. She's with her real parents now.
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That's... technically a happier ending. Though still lonely, still a little painful for Otome, and his heart goes out to her. ]
I see.
Do you miss her?
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[ She sighs, softly. ]
Yes. Every day.
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I'm sorry. Even if you can still be with her... it's a terrible loss.
[ He manages to say that, speak before another memory slips forward.
It's the first time you've woken up like this. You're maybe five, or six years old, and you're filled with fear first, and panic second.
But you still know better than to scream.
You slap the arm that's keeping you pinned to your bed, and it doesn't do much, except wherever that knife misses wherever it was meant to cut, slashing deep and bloody over your chest instead, pain slicing through your veins as your legs kick out, earning a grunt of pain when they connect with—something soft and human.
The situation starts to take shape in your head, and something else seeps in around the fear: fury. Indignation. Rage that anyone would do this to you- you're a prince.
You kick again before your attacker manages to shield himself, into that same spot, another more pronounced cry of pain. But the reason your shadow stuck close was because this time, he lodges his blade into your shoulder, and it burns so much that you lose track of everything else. How hard your fists are beating into the arm around your neck. How furiously your legs are kicking at the shape above you until eventually it staggers back.
And against all odds, you get up too. The knife wasn't driven deep enough to stay in place when you move, and suddenly it's very accessible.
Suddenly the knife is in your hand and you're screaming, launching forward and you know that you hurt him, some where, some amount of times because there's blood spraying over your floors different from the droplets dripping from your own clothes. But you're only a child, and when the fog clears from your head you realize that the would-be assassin is gone.
It's just you, covered in blood and left without a scratch.
Claude startles as it fades, stepping back so that he doesn't accidentally tighten his grip, his other hand going up to his chest. ]
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That's not... what a child should be going through. That's-- ]
Claude...
[ It's vaguely questioning, but she isn't asking for an explanation. She isn't asking for reassurance. Otome just gazes at him, and the prevalent emotion is concern. ]
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That was unpleasant, wasn't it? But don't worry, it's been many years.
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[ She reaches for his hand, then hesitates, eyes flicking up to his face for permission. That probably did him no favors in the trusting department. ]
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[ He gives her a thin smile before shaking his head. ]
I have no intention of denying that it was awful, but that's just how the pieces fall sometimes.
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Did you come to expect this...?
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I'd say so. It happened more times than I could count.
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... Because of your status?
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But he doesn't feel like lying. ]
Not quite. My mother hailed from another country, and people didn't like a prince of mixed heritage.
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[ wow, she actually sounds quietly angry. ]
That's terrible.
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[ He smiles wryly, but he doesn't appear particularly haunted or hurt by remembering. Just dismayed. ]
I think things could've changed though, with the right push.
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Though I'm fairly sure you already know it won't be easy.
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It's only how old you feel inside that counts.
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Duly noted. I just meant that you're still young. You're so certain your time has come and gone already?
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I suppose I should mention that I'm a dead man.
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...
[ She just kind of stares at him. ]
You're dead? [ As she automatically thinks back. Had she missed something? He'd spoken like he still had so much more to fight for... ]
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