[ for as much as he wants to be honesty with her, the consequence of the truth is the weight that follows it, the way it conjures up the sadness that swirls in the round of her eyes, wide with their sad curiosity. he wants her to know, to understand more of him, of what he's seen, of what he's felt, but all in the same breath, he doesn't want to her to feel the ache he often comes paired with.
but she's asking him, and when she does, he can't give her lies. he wouldn't want to. ]
It's ... a bit of both.
[ when she lightly holds at his wrist, her eyes closing, he brings up his fingers to lightly graze more of her cheek, like he can somehow soften the solemness of his explanation with gentle caresses to offer a balance. ]
You can't really keep track of time in there. It all blends in together, like a dream just layered over in blankness. When you wake up, you don't feel like you've been asleep for long, but you ... remember every bit of darkness. Like it just pulls at you without stopping, like you're out of your body, and you don't have any bit of control to make your way back, not until someone finds you and puts you back.
[ his voice is quiet, composed like he's explaining it just as calmly as everything else, but there's a light tension in his fingers, like he's purposely countering a tremble. ]
It's why it's the primary form of punishment in the prison system. They can just store you in the ice forever, leave you to be forgotten, to just swim in the dark without dying. [ why sentence someone to death when you can just let them live in torment? ] And my sentence never had an end date. I was never supposed to wake up.
no subject
but she's asking him, and when she does, he can't give her lies. he wouldn't want to. ]
It's ... a bit of both.
[ when she lightly holds at his wrist, her eyes closing, he brings up his fingers to lightly graze more of her cheek, like he can somehow soften the solemness of his explanation with gentle caresses to offer a balance. ]
You can't really keep track of time in there. It all blends in together, like a dream just layered over in blankness. When you wake up, you don't feel like you've been asleep for long, but you ... remember every bit of darkness. Like it just pulls at you without stopping, like you're out of your body, and you don't have any bit of control to make your way back, not until someone finds you and puts you back.
[ his voice is quiet, composed like he's explaining it just as calmly as everything else, but there's a light tension in his fingers, like he's purposely countering a tremble. ]
It's why it's the primary form of punishment in the prison system. They can just store you in the ice forever, leave you to be forgotten, to just swim in the dark without dying. [ why sentence someone to death when you can just let them live in torment? ] And my sentence never had an end date. I was never supposed to wake up.