head trauma

Alaine Winters · 02-26-2011, 02:55 AM

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table © Mel
wc: 5+
ooc: ilu <33 you can post again if you want, or just archive once you've read it c:

She could see his train of thought evolve at each new revolution to leave her maw - Had he been the one to steal away her innocence, to plant the cracked and craved seed within her that had soon blossomed to become the instability that was her son? No, relief - It had not been he. But the guilt remained, for Jefferson had been one of them, one of the shadows-that-walk, those with cold steel in their eyes and a stake in their brittle hearts that stole all ability to feel the mortality that was empathy.

She pitied him, for no doubt that guilt would always linger. For the deeds his previous self had committed, the cyclopes would suffer eternal mental torment. Did unknown faces haunt his dreams - Memories resurfacing to punish him, again and again, in the voices of those Maluki had torn down? Emerald eyes felt only the absence of tears. She felt no remorse at this pain, but only the wish to ease him of it. Jefferson was not a shadow-that-walked; there was love in his one eye, buried deep, and a true heart beat warm blood in his veins, Alaine knew. Was it too late then for him to be purified of his sins?

He apologized, but it was obsolete. There was no need for apology. The collie woman remained steadily watching, milking his emotions with her deep gaze, sensing each shift in the scars that split his face. There was deep deep pain there, hidden beneath his cracked and craven mask, just as there was within herself. The deep pain, the heartsickness. It was a dangerous disease, if one allowed the infection to seep too far.

The man was not done revealing surprises to her yet. An amnesiac; She had suspected, of course. Apart from bipolarism, there was little that could have produced two such separate identities from the one body. A wave of sympathy rushed through her; How horrible it must be, to know of the things your hands have done, without having seen them do it. He was cursed.

The graveyard chilled her bones, and time had slid by. The woman's duty called her - Back in the packlands, there were people who would need her help, and she would need to be prepared. But she lingered a moment longer, fingers still resting lightly on his arm, gaze still embedded in the face that had turned away from her once more. "I can't fix you," It was a sad realisation, but with it came epiphany, "Only you can do such a thing. Maluki had the darkness to demolish the world - May Jefferson have the strength to rebuild it." The hint of a small, grim smile curved the corner of her lips, and the woman turned from him and began to stride back towards the misty buildings. After taking a few steps, she paused, and without looking over her shoulder spoke: "If you need me, call for me. I will come to your aid." One ivory hand resettled the leather strap of her satchel more comfortably over her shoulder, and the woman then disappeared back into the gloom of Halifax.

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