[ a heartbeat of a pause stutters between them. alina resides at the very center of it, aimlessly lost, like — it's been so very long since she's thought of want at all that her compass has broken. her mouth opens, then slowly latches shut. because there is no answer — not one that matters in any form. the course of her life, in some part, has always been predetermined for her. that won't end until she does, or —

until ravka no longer needs her. whichever comes first. ]

That's never mattered. The world has made assumptions about me from the day I was born.

[ and they'll continue the day she leaves the world, too. a certain resignation tinges her words, but there's an evenness to it, too — as though she's had time to come to terms with that fate. in the end, it's not nearly so different from being the reviled half-shu orphan. her heritage has already solidified a version of herself in those too steeped in their prejudices, to begin with.

it's a better answer, still, than the alternative i don't know. even if such indecision is carved into the tight furl between her brows, carving confusion into the angles of her face. ]

But if I had a say ... I would want them to see me as different from who came before me. Someone capable of mending what's broken.

[ if kirigan had been seen as destruction, then — perhaps it's her turn to be seen as protection, as peace. everything he could not achieve. ]