An ache, throbbing away in his chest. The memory of their childhood together, so close and yet so incredibly far out of reach. The way he'd tried to lock himself away, when she'd left, a gentle, patient voice calling him out of his shell, gently leading him into his own.
Hours of writing his own scripture, his own bible, until his fingers ached and eyes could barely remain open. Hours of memorizing the words. The trading card, her signature, tucked into its pages. A bookmark.
It was all for her.
The fear, revulsion to the unsafe, outside world, when he'd been told she'd been shot. His desperation to see her, to bring her home. (She'd refused. The children on the front lines needed her more. More than him. More than her own brother might need her well and safe.) He hated the thought, ruminated on it. Could not let go of the possibility of it happening again, and again, the longer she spent away from home. He could keep her safe in Penacony. It would be perfect, complete, whole. He knew he could...
█████ would keep her safe!
But then she returned home. And he couldn't. She was killed under his nose. He'd collapsed in a heap when he'd seen, after shooing everyone away. Clinging to her. He'd done it all for her. Every word of scripture, every prayer, every punishment, every lesson, every snip of feathers, every rule, every law, both harmony and █████, it was all for Robin. He loved people as he loved the world. But he loved Robin more than his own life.
The memories are confusing, disorienting. Did he miss her?
Like a drowning man missed air.
"I do. I miss her terribly. I've been... without her before. But not like this."
They were still able to write, before. But with no idea where he was, let alone her.... It wasn't quite possible, now, was it?
Sunday's arms cross over his chest. What a pitiful sight he made, trapped in his own mind, unable to move without his younger sister at his side. A cage of his own making, chains woven around him long before he ever realized they were. This poor girl having to witness all of it, even singing to him, like she once had. Like he had once sung to her. Their mother's last song weaves through his heart, her sacrifice predating his own determined one. That was his plan, wasn't it?
Wasn't that what love was? To give, to protect, to offer one's throat for the life of another? And now he was so far away from her, from everything he knew... What sort of test was this? What could possibly be his answer?
He had to move. He had to try something. Anything. He glances back at the balcony behind him, the dark abyss below, and finds no more comfort in it than he would a gaping maw, than that hand on his shoulder and that voice in his ear. For Robin, he would breathe deep, closing his eyes.
He couldn't give up now. Not here. He turns back to Miku, more collected, now. His voice a little stronger.
no subject
Does he... miss his sister?
An ache, throbbing away in his chest. The memory of their childhood together, so close and yet so incredibly far out of reach. The way he'd tried to lock himself away, when she'd left, a gentle, patient voice calling him out of his shell, gently leading him into his own.
Hours of writing his own scripture, his own bible, until his fingers ached and eyes could barely remain open. Hours of memorizing the words. The trading card, her signature, tucked into its pages. A bookmark.
It was all for her.
The fear, revulsion to the unsafe, outside world, when he'd been told she'd been shot. His desperation to see her, to bring her home. (She'd refused. The children on the front lines needed her more. More than him. More than her own brother might need her well and safe.) He hated the thought, ruminated on it. Could not let go of the possibility of it happening again, and again, the longer she spent away from home. He could keep her safe in Penacony. It would be perfect, complete, whole. He knew he could...
█████ would keep her safe!
But then she returned home. And he couldn't. She was killed under his nose. He'd collapsed in a heap when he'd seen, after shooing everyone away. Clinging to her. He'd done it all for her. Every word of scripture, every prayer, every punishment, every lesson, every snip of feathers, every rule, every law, both harmony and █████, it was all for Robin. He loved people as he loved the world. But he loved Robin more than his own life.
The memories are confusing, disorienting. Did he miss her?
Like a drowning man missed air.
"I do. I miss her terribly. I've been... without her before. But not like this."
They were still able to write, before. But with no idea where he was, let alone her.... It wasn't quite possible, now, was it?
Sunday's arms cross over his chest. What a pitiful sight he made, trapped in his own mind, unable to move without his younger sister at his side. A cage of his own making, chains woven around him long before he ever realized they were. This poor girl having to witness all of it, even singing to him, like she once had. Like he had once sung to her. Their mother's last song weaves through his heart, her sacrifice predating his own determined one. That was his plan, wasn't it?
Wasn't that what love was? To give, to protect, to offer one's throat for the life of another? And now he was so far away from her, from everything he knew... What sort of test was this? What could possibly be his answer?
He had to move. He had to try something. Anything. He glances back at the balcony behind him, the dark abyss below, and finds no more comfort in it than he would a gaping maw, than that hand on his shoulder and that voice in his ear. For Robin, he would breathe deep, closing his eyes.
He couldn't give up now. Not here. He turns back to Miku, more collected, now. His voice a little stronger.
"Do you know what this place is?"