( when pouring over the information that she had available (which she still does even here, with all of this new time), she considers all possibilities based on the fragments of the picture that she has. perhaps she has brushed against the truth of it a few times, but she had set it aside out of hand — she had placed her hope in the elegance of necromancy in action and that such a sacred and holy secret would not be so obvious and monstrous.
she makes another impatient gesture with her hands, and the two skeletal constructs turn and stalk away, taking up sentinel positions in the center of the two hallways which conjoined on their position. she takes another few steps closer, only a few feet away from her own lyctoral body now, and she stops when she hears the answer. tension arrests her expression, several lines standing out in her neck as she clenches her jaw. the sickly sort of betrayal she had presented dries up, grows brittle, and burns away in an instant; in its place is a pain far more novel, a treason far more close to her shriveled heart because it had been inflicted by the only person she had ever decided to trust, all secrets laid bare, fully and completely. )
You—
( her instinct — an old one, and one that she is only vaguely ashamed of — is to lash out in her pain, to skewer gideon with lances of barbed words, trying to dig out the regret or the guilt wherever it hid (or gouge out the shape of it, if it didn't). but she can't. not in this moment, not with the embarrassment of a lump in her throat she was having difficulty working around. her teeth grind, and her eyelids flutter for a moment before resolving into a harsh gaze under heavy, furrowed brows. when she responds, the word is thick and beleaguered, having been forced through the emotional wringer that is her state: ) What?
no subject
she makes another impatient gesture with her hands, and the two skeletal constructs turn and stalk away, taking up sentinel positions in the center of the two hallways which conjoined on their position. she takes another few steps closer, only a few feet away from her own lyctoral body now, and she stops when she hears the answer. tension arrests her expression, several lines standing out in her neck as she clenches her jaw. the sickly sort of betrayal she had presented dries up, grows brittle, and burns away in an instant; in its place is a pain far more novel, a treason far more close to her shriveled heart because it had been inflicted by the only person she had ever decided to trust, all secrets laid bare, fully and completely. )
You—
( her instinct — an old one, and one that she is only vaguely ashamed of — is to lash out in her pain, to skewer gideon with lances of barbed words, trying to dig out the regret or the guilt wherever it hid (or gouge out the shape of it, if it didn't). but she can't. not in this moment, not with the embarrassment of a lump in her throat she was having difficulty working around. her teeth grind, and her eyelids flutter for a moment before resolving into a harsh gaze under heavy, furrowed brows. when she responds, the word is thick and beleaguered, having been forced through the emotional wringer that is her state: ) What?