[ where his words had once been the calming song to soothe her ailing heart, they now strike her where it hurts the most, far deeper than her healer's hands can reach. his plea here, his attempt at an appeal — it stings worse than any injury she's ever acquired, and she recoils from the brunt of it with so much force that he might as well have struck her himself. ]
Faithful?
[ her voice pitches once more in her disbelief, weighted only by her extreme flaring of indignation. she is at once incredulous and disappointed, pained and alarmed. ]
You.. You want me to be faithful? While you—?
[ her words cut off, her hands flinging back towards the camp he had carefully created for them, wherein a home that should have been just theirs waits a man who has already achieved what she sees now was never meant to be hers. for while patroclus fills the hollow half of achilles' heart, she realizes all along she'd only meant to be the cradle that supports it.
is this the life she's meant to have? is this the kind of love she deserves? one of loneliness and afterthoughts, of staring at the backs of giants who remain just a little too out of her reach.
twice before she thought she could be fine with it. that she would not mind, so long as he was happy, to remain the the harbor to his sailing ship, left behind to do little more than sit and wait and be content.
but his love has made her even more selfish, bolstered a belief that she might not only be worth more, but deserved more, and to suddenly have that ripped out from her hands feels so incredibly cruel. she thought, for a moment there, that that feeling might finally be hers to keep. ]
No...
[ she takes a step back, and snow crunches beneath her feet. her hands reach out, not towards him, but against him, like a shield that shivers delicately in the winter wind. ]
I can't...
[ another step back, and then another, and slowly but surely each one after that grows steadier, more determined. she looks at him, just one last time, and tries to remember how happy he had made her. how happy yet they could have been.
somehow it only makes this hurt more. ]
...I won't.
[ there is some sweet sort of irony here, that through his love she has finally learned to speak up for what she wants... yet what she wants, he cannot give. ]
I'm sorry.
[ and she is, too, for all of it, for none of it, for her strength and her weakness and his love and his loves and all the things she is now turning her back to and running from. ]
no subject
Faithful?
[ her voice pitches once more in her disbelief, weighted only by her extreme flaring of indignation. she is at once incredulous and disappointed, pained and alarmed. ]
You.. You want me to be faithful? While you—?
[ her words cut off, her hands flinging back towards the camp he had carefully created for them, wherein a home that should have been just theirs waits a man who has already achieved what she sees now was never meant to be hers. for while patroclus fills the hollow half of achilles' heart, she realizes all along she'd only meant to be the cradle that supports it.
is this the life she's meant to have? is this the kind of love she deserves? one of loneliness and afterthoughts, of staring at the backs of giants who remain just a little too out of her reach.
twice before she thought she could be fine with it. that she would not mind, so long as he was happy, to remain the the harbor to his sailing ship, left behind to do little more than sit and wait and be content.
but his love has made her even more selfish, bolstered a belief that she might not only be worth more, but deserved more, and to suddenly have that ripped out from her hands feels so incredibly cruel. she thought, for a moment there, that that feeling might finally be hers to keep. ]
No...
[ she takes a step back, and snow crunches beneath her feet. her hands reach out, not towards him, but against him, like a shield that shivers delicately in the winter wind. ]
I can't...
[ another step back, and then another, and slowly but surely each one after that grows steadier, more determined. she looks at him, just one last time, and tries to remember how happy he had made her. how happy yet they could have been.
somehow it only makes this hurt more. ]
...I won't.
[ there is some sweet sort of irony here, that through his love she has finally learned to speak up for what she wants... yet what she wants, he cannot give. ]
I'm sorry.
[ and she is, too, for all of it, for none of it, for her strength and her weakness and his love and his loves and all the things she is now turning her back to and running from. ]