[ a flinch ripples through alina's expression, though she represses her urge to shrink back. it slices, still — nearly as deeply as the amplifier locked into her bones — to hear the self-pity, to witness his uncertainty.
she's felt so close to breaking, these days. the doctor's hesitation, like he believes her to be one misstep away from shattering, is only an unfortunate reminder of the little cracks showing through her veneer. ]
Not in the way you think.
[ no, the true hurt is more than skin-deep, rotting beneath layers and layers. set in the marrow of her bones, where the hurt of aleksander's betrayal resides. coursing through her blood, each time she has to force herself to look at that monstrosity in the mirror, all gnarled scar tissue and protruding antlers. as though it isn't enough to be wounded, she has to live with the evidence of it on her body, like a map to all the ways in which she's been hurt.
all the ways in which her freedom has been denied, her power shackled. leeching aleksander's influence away might guarantee that is her own to control, once more — but what could ever possibly heal all the lasting impressions left on her? scars never heal, after all — they only fade until you can pretend them away. ]
You can touch it. [ a show of trust. the curiosity is there, open in his eyes — but it lacks the gawking of children looking at exotic animals, the maliciousness of poking an injured creature through the bars of its cage. ] It won't make a difference.
[ it can't hurt her — but it's as potent a reminder that a single touch is just as incapable of mending her. ]
no subject
she's felt so close to breaking, these days. the doctor's hesitation, like he believes her to be one misstep away from shattering, is only an unfortunate reminder of the little cracks showing through her veneer. ]
Not in the way you think.
[ no, the true hurt is more than skin-deep, rotting beneath layers and layers. set in the marrow of her bones, where the hurt of aleksander's betrayal resides. coursing through her blood, each time she has to force herself to look at that monstrosity in the mirror, all gnarled scar tissue and protruding antlers. as though it isn't enough to be wounded, she has to live with the evidence of it on her body, like a map to all the ways in which she's been hurt.
all the ways in which her freedom has been denied, her power shackled. leeching aleksander's influence away might guarantee that is her own to control, once more — but what could ever possibly heal all the lasting impressions left on her? scars never heal, after all — they only fade until you can pretend them away. ]
You can touch it. [ a show of trust. the curiosity is there, open in his eyes — but it lacks the gawking of children looking at exotic animals, the maliciousness of poking an injured creature through the bars of its cage. ] It won't make a difference.
[ it can't hurt her — but it's as potent a reminder that a single touch is just as incapable of mending her. ]