TM Topic 176 - Past Scars
She watches him awake, lips curving as he assesses his surroundings, so quickly, so efficiently. She can feel his mind buzzing already, working through the possibilities.
It takes him a moment to feel the connection, aided by technology even he doesn't recognise, and his eyes widen.
"I was curious," she murmured, stepping into his line of sight and revelling in his surprise.
"So many echoes of death in your eyes." She moves closer, reaching out to gently close his eyes; he doesn't resist, perhaps saving his strength for later.
Her fingers are guided by instinct through his temples, probing the scars underneath.
the librarian swings from dying lights into the spider's web, giving his life to freedom
the broken traveller falls and shatters for the last time, and his blood smells like orchids
wild fire consumes homes and churches and forgotten lives, and it is supposed to, and he does nothing
He shudders beneath her restraints, fighting to keep this next memory buried, far from her reach, and he succeeds. He is stronger than she thought but this leaves him all the more vulnerable; he cannot stop her from continuing.
a young man of twisted ambition martyrs himself rather than deal with disillusion, the son atoning for the father's cowardice
she wields her weapon, consumed by a faith of condemnation, and the shot takes her bitter heart before he can save her from herself
"You do mourn for everyone, don't you?" Wry disdain, awed admiration, of course he must feel them both.
the cynical orphan dies for her god
a world condemned as he knew it would be; his body a model to build their army on; children and families and strangers and friends lost to steel drained of blood
civil war and incurable disease, misunderstandings and good intentions, he could never have known
"It doesn't stop the guilt, does it? It never does. Oh, how tragic you are."
hundreds of needless deaths, the blood of gladiators staining his hands
an old friend he never knew dies in his arms, his last sacrifice to peace and friendship
a man of honour consumed by greed throws himself at last to the wolves, to find redemption in their indifferent jaws
"And so close together," she whispers. "What an adventure that must have been."
A flash of indignant protest, restrained fury, and it makes her smile again; a sad smile that he can't see, but might as well.
he aims at his fallen hero, and shoots, and hopes he can finally rest
he won't give his lives to end their foolishness but will for them, always for them, but he needn't in the end
she'll die here
she'll die here
she'll die here
Get out.
She shudders, and opens her eyes to find him looking at her, his gaze clear and derisive. She realises that he's far older than she is, that she's no right to dig through his memories, nor to judge them, that he's done more than she could dream of, that she should be ashamed of...
"I thought you were too honourable to mess around in peoples' heads."
"There are exceptions to every rule." He shouldn't be able to speak but his voice is strong, dignified, and he's looking at her with such disappointment now.
It should hardly matter what a stranger thinks but I'm hardly a stranger, now, am I? Her eyes widen and she backs away from him, but he only smiles; a sad smile.
"Let me go, and you can forget."
She does, and she can't.
It takes him a moment to feel the connection, aided by technology even he doesn't recognise, and his eyes widen.
"I was curious," she murmured, stepping into his line of sight and revelling in his surprise.
"So many echoes of death in your eyes." She moves closer, reaching out to gently close his eyes; he doesn't resist, perhaps saving his strength for later.
Her fingers are guided by instinct through his temples, probing the scars underneath.
the librarian swings from dying lights into the spider's web, giving his life to freedom
the broken traveller falls and shatters for the last time, and his blood smells like orchids
wild fire consumes homes and churches and forgotten lives, and it is supposed to, and he does nothing
He shudders beneath her restraints, fighting to keep this next memory buried, far from her reach, and he succeeds. He is stronger than she thought but this leaves him all the more vulnerable; he cannot stop her from continuing.
a young man of twisted ambition martyrs himself rather than deal with disillusion, the son atoning for the father's cowardice
she wields her weapon, consumed by a faith of condemnation, and the shot takes her bitter heart before he can save her from herself
"You do mourn for everyone, don't you?" Wry disdain, awed admiration, of course he must feel them both.
the cynical orphan dies for her god
a world condemned as he knew it would be; his body a model to build their army on; children and families and strangers and friends lost to steel drained of blood
civil war and incurable disease, misunderstandings and good intentions, he could never have known
"It doesn't stop the guilt, does it? It never does. Oh, how tragic you are."
hundreds of needless deaths, the blood of gladiators staining his hands
an old friend he never knew dies in his arms, his last sacrifice to peace and friendship
a man of honour consumed by greed throws himself at last to the wolves, to find redemption in their indifferent jaws
"And so close together," she whispers. "What an adventure that must have been."
A flash of indignant protest, restrained fury, and it makes her smile again; a sad smile that he can't see, but might as well.
he aims at his fallen hero, and shoots, and hopes he can finally rest
he won't give his lives to end their foolishness but will for them, always for them, but he needn't in the end
she'll die here
she'll die here
she'll die here
Get out.
She shudders, and opens her eyes to find him looking at her, his gaze clear and derisive. She realises that he's far older than she is, that she's no right to dig through his memories, nor to judge them, that he's done more than she could dream of, that she should be ashamed of...
"I thought you were too honourable to mess around in peoples' heads."
"There are exceptions to every rule." He shouldn't be able to speak but his voice is strong, dignified, and he's looking at her with such disappointment now.
It should hardly matter what a stranger thinks but I'm hardly a stranger, now, am I? Her eyes widen and she backs away from him, but he only smiles; a sad smile.
"Let me go, and you can forget."
She does, and she can't.