These thorns have a will. They drown me in their blossoms, black blossoms that stink of death. They chase me with their blades, and cut my limbs off, and they wouldn't help me remember.
[A little head tip.]
They should thank me. It's harder not to kill her than it is to let her die, and if she kept throwing herself in my way, it would have become too annoying to try.
This way, she won't move anymore. Not for a while.
It's a small perspective that makes revenge so large.
[And at this, she tips her head a bit, looking... questioning. As though it's a very odd thing Rukia just said.]
Why?
Because it makes us strong, and if we're strong then they are strong. They make us as weapons to use in their war. But I'm afraid from their perspective, all of us are failures.
No. I came here, and this girl-- [She nudges Clare lightly with one hand] --cut my chains.
She did it to hurt me. Destroyed my world. ...I've had my world destroyed so many times. It's becoming-- [what's the right word? She furrows her brow.] --boring.
Repetitive.
[Painful? A little. But if so, it doesn't show on her face.]
--the world is full of light, Rukia. Little lights and larger ones. Fragile and strong. When they die, they flicker away like little candle flames. When the world dies, it's like every candle in every place goes out at once. And all you can see is the dark.
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If there are thorns at your throat, you remove them. That's not so unusual.
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[A little head tip.]
They should thank me. It's harder not to kill her than it is to let her die, and if she kept throwing herself in my way, it would have become too annoying to try.
This way, she won't move anymore. Not for a while.
We recover quickly, our kind.
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[...]
The Organization made us from yoma parts and orphaned children.
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[And at this, she tips her head a bit, looking... questioning. As though it's a very odd thing Rukia just said.]
Why?
Because it makes us strong, and if we're strong then they are strong. They make us as weapons to use in their war. But I'm afraid from their perspective, all of us are failures.
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If I awaken from fear, then I fail. If I awaken from rage, then I fail.
I love, I fail. I mourn, I fail. I turn away from them, I fail.
That is, to them. To me, they are only twigs in the forest. Dry and fallen and alone. If I touch them, they break apart.
To me, they fail.
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A weapon does not feel, or cry, or want, or think. They called us soldiers... but we weren't soldiers. We were only blades.
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She did it to hurt me. Destroyed my world. ...I've had my world destroyed so many times. It's becoming-- [what's the right word? She furrows her brow.] --boring.
Repetitive.
[Painful? A little. But if so, it doesn't show on her face.]
--the world is full of light, Rukia. Little lights and larger ones. Fragile and strong. When they die, they flicker away like little candle flames. When the world dies, it's like every candle in every place goes out at once. And all you can see is the dark.
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[She looks off into the distance, and the wind stirs her hair.]
I've come out of the darkness, now. I feel... good.
[But is that a good thing? There's something cold in her voice, cold and empty as a bottomless void.]
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