[ she doesn't. not at the party she's hosting, that she'd wanted to make friends at and help others become comfortable, to induce trust and camaraderie... the very things that angela's voice quails on, and
her fists clench; the pain grounds only somewhat and her gaze turns briefly to look about the crowd for-- for someone, but it turns back to the other woman soon enough, not eager to give away the very friend she'd speak so unkindly of. ]
... I do not appreciate thine assumptions of my fellows.
[ the gratitude gone and something hot in its place, an anger barely kept in check (because there's nothing wrong with questions, it isn't a reason to throw the gauntlet in this life) ]
Have thee any choice but? When one's family dies, do thee merely rot where they lay? When thou'rt surrounded by lives lost in battle, do thee allow thyself to let their sacrifice be in vain? It is painful, and I may linger yet, I may yearn to know why... the times we hath spent by each other's sides may have been nothing but play, but the feelings we shared then -- are those not real? One cannot help but grow attached to others, no matter how hard they try not to be; that is a fact, miss, but so is that one cannot live hammering nails through their feet.
[ even if her own were bloody and torn to shreds, even if they all turned their back on her... all of the sinners know what it's like to be alone, to be lonely; it isn't a fate they'd like to return to, but it's at least familiar in its ache. the dullness of it throbs in her chest, and she'd like nothing more than that gentle hand in hers. ]
Not every smile will have been false, nor will have every spoken word a lie! I am sorry that thine experience hath been an unpleasant one, but the strength gained, the steps taken, from such a relationship is real. If nothing else, that is to be treasured!
literally so sick on my own party log
her fists clench; the pain grounds only somewhat and her gaze turns briefly to look about the crowd for-- for someone, but it turns back to the other woman soon enough, not eager to give away the very friend she'd speak so unkindly of. ]
... I do not appreciate thine assumptions of my fellows.
[ the gratitude gone and something hot in its place, an anger barely kept in check (because there's nothing wrong with questions, it isn't a reason to throw the gauntlet in this life) ]
Have thee any choice but? When one's family dies, do thee merely rot where they lay? When thou'rt surrounded by lives lost in battle, do thee allow thyself to let their sacrifice be in vain? It is painful, and I may linger yet, I may yearn to know why... the times we hath spent by each other's sides may have been nothing but play, but the feelings we shared then -- are those not real? One cannot help but grow attached to others, no matter how hard they try not to be; that is a fact, miss, but so is that one cannot live hammering nails through their feet.
[ even if her own were bloody and torn to shreds, even if they all turned their back on her... all of the sinners know what it's like to be alone, to be lonely; it isn't a fate they'd like to return to, but it's at least familiar in its ache. the dullness of it throbs in her chest, and she'd like nothing more than that gentle hand in hers. ]
Not every smile will have been false, nor will have every spoken word a lie! I am sorry that thine experience hath been an unpleasant one, but the strength gained, the steps taken, from such a relationship is real. If nothing else, that is to be treasured!