(no subject)
There is no sin so terrible that God's love cannot forgive.
Rahne has been telling herself this for days now, ever since they brought her back and even before, but that doesn't mean she's completely sold on the idea yet where it would apply to her. She may not remember exactly what happened when the Purifiers had her, but her dreams have been bad enough for her to have the general idea of it, and it doesn't get much worse than what she did. If there's anything unforgivable, it's that. For everything in her past that's horrible, as well as her future -- she hasn't forgotten Jamie and Layla and what she saw, even with this happening -- none of it compares to what she's done now. Her father, trying to kill Angel... It's more than she wants to think about, and at the same time, it's all she can think about, especially now that they've left her here on her own. A part of her regrets that, wants to be out fighting with them, but she's in no state for that and she knows it, neither physically nor mentally.
Instead, she's curled up on the window seat, a rosary in hand and Bible in front of her as she looks out at the falling snow. Praying doesn't seem to have done her much good so far, but that's never been any reason for her to stop before, and it sure as hell isn't going to be now. If she isn't going to be forgiven, it won't be for any lack of trying. When she does relax, attention turning from the page in front of her to outside, it's meant only to be for a moment, and she regrets it immediately. The snow on the ground, the seat, the house, it's all replaced by sand; the cold she felt from being pressed up against the glass is now warm, the dim light from a sunset over an ocean that she's certain wasn't there the last time she checked. She's been through a lot, she knows, but she hasn't thought before now that she might've lost her mind completely. Maybe it shouldn't be so surprising, but she's stunned enough not to move, save for tensing, her back going straight, chin lifting a little as she looks around. She's trying not to be nervous, she really is, but she's clutching her rosary so tight that her knuckles have gone white, and there's no hiding the quiver in her voice when she finally speaks, to no one in particular. "What is this?"
Rahne has been telling herself this for days now, ever since they brought her back and even before, but that doesn't mean she's completely sold on the idea yet where it would apply to her. She may not remember exactly what happened when the Purifiers had her, but her dreams have been bad enough for her to have the general idea of it, and it doesn't get much worse than what she did. If there's anything unforgivable, it's that. For everything in her past that's horrible, as well as her future -- she hasn't forgotten Jamie and Layla and what she saw, even with this happening -- none of it compares to what she's done now. Her father, trying to kill Angel... It's more than she wants to think about, and at the same time, it's all she can think about, especially now that they've left her here on her own. A part of her regrets that, wants to be out fighting with them, but she's in no state for that and she knows it, neither physically nor mentally.
Instead, she's curled up on the window seat, a rosary in hand and Bible in front of her as she looks out at the falling snow. Praying doesn't seem to have done her much good so far, but that's never been any reason for her to stop before, and it sure as hell isn't going to be now. If she isn't going to be forgiven, it won't be for any lack of trying. When she does relax, attention turning from the page in front of her to outside, it's meant only to be for a moment, and she regrets it immediately. The snow on the ground, the seat, the house, it's all replaced by sand; the cold she felt from being pressed up against the glass is now warm, the dim light from a sunset over an ocean that she's certain wasn't there the last time she checked. She's been through a lot, she knows, but she hasn't thought before now that she might've lost her mind completely. Maybe it shouldn't be so surprising, but she's stunned enough not to move, save for tensing, her back going straight, chin lifting a little as she looks around. She's trying not to be nervous, she really is, but she's clutching her rosary so tight that her knuckles have gone white, and there's no hiding the quiver in her voice when she finally speaks, to no one in particular. "What is this?"