[/html]The jealousy and rage came in turns, but they alternated with a despairing sort of relief. Some part of the pallid woman was very grateful that her sister had found love, even if it was in Inferni. It was the same part of her that was glad that Myrika had found a place to belong to, amongst people that would protect her -- even if it was Inferni. Some part of her recognized, too, the irony of things. Their father had warned them away from Inferni, a place of prejudice and treachery, but no where else. But here was his tawny daughter, with all the goodness and love in her still, branded an Infernian; and there was his albino daughter, with only bitterness and cold mistrust left, after only traveling elsewhere.
It was markedly unfair, the differences in their experiences in their time apart, but for all her frustration and callousness and the aching in her chest, Cassandra would never want for that to change.
She had not looked at Myrika at any point during the conversation, at first allowing herself to be fixated on her meal, and then simply keeping her gaze elseplace, but she looked at her now, hunched over beside her, radiating with guilt. "I never thought otherwise," Cassandra said, then looked away again, down at the cloak across her lap. "I can't stay here though." Or wouldn't. She wouldn't.
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