citylogs | september catch-all { fabric of shame and sorrow's name

Do you?

[ Halted now, she'll keep her hands clasped and hold a subtle squint to her gaze—not accusatory, but searching. For all that he is a fantastical being, a god or something more, she is still left wondering on what he doesn't know about. Of course he doesn't know all about her life, that isn't expected. So how can he see her?

Not unless he gazed into her eyes and saw the thing that drips venom into her skull—slowly, slowly, there's time yet to completion. And if he could see her demons, then how could he bear to keep looking?

He can't. No one can. Not even Ethan. Anything less and they can't see her at all. Isn't that the point? ]

What do you see?

[ he meets her gaze steadily. his blue eyes look human in the dim but brightening light of the dawn, but she still can get the impression of stars shining there. ]

I see a woman who, at this moment, is in need of courage.

[ Courage, yes, and she has gained a little, but for what? Where will more carry her when the path has been dashed? Who will be waiting there? Not God, not anymore.

While it does garner a stare of consideration, she does not lose herself, instead her gaze narrowing slightly once more. Silent for a bit; studying. When she speaks again, her voice has dropped to scrape lower. Still curious. ]

Is that all, Morpheus?

Edited 2023-09-18 04:18 (UTC)

A woman with a complicated and painful past and unknown future ahead of her.

[ he dips his chin, the angle of his head tipping just so towards her. ]

The rest is for you to tell, lady Vanessa.

[ Something about that does make her smile in a dark humor, though it's for a jest only she knows. ]

You have just described every woman with a broken heart.

[ It is apt. It is not enough. It's small, too small for what she contains. ]

There is a story about a woman like no other, whose heart broke like no other. Some called her a goddess. [ She was more than that; something known without being known. Something that came before knowing. ] I think her heart is still breaking from the loneliness, you see, but her story is the only one that can never be told.

[ Her finger curl, hands clasped tightly together. ]

You said that you knew her.

[ his chin raises at that; a proud stance, one that looks completely natural for him. ]

Amunet.

[ The name seizes something in her. Her jaw is tight.

She doesn't like to say it, and yet she should. Names are power, and she has let it have power over her. ]

You ask for the beginning. I keep hearing so many pieces of her tale and yet there is only ever one ending. The way the story is told should suggest it as her resurrection, but...then there is nothing. She awakens. Then nothing. As though she opens her eyes only for long enough to see the final trace of light lose itself to darkness.

[ Her knuckles are tight. ]

Everything ends.

[ A prophecy is rarely a sweet story. ]

All light would end and the world would live in darkness. The Hidden Ones would emerge and rule. Have you heard that ending?

... A prophecy. One that I have not heard in my world.

[ She had dreaded that he'd heard it, as though that might finalize it, and yet for him to not makes it somehow worse. There is nothing more he can tell her, no way to help her understand.

Finally, she looks away, down, and her fingers uncurl. They fan among the folds of her skirt, but they don't ease. There is a tremble from the strain of her stance. ]

It is a prophecy about me.

You believe you are Amunet ... reincarnated?

[ there's a lightness to his tone as he said it, understanding of their previous conversation finally dawning. ]

It's what I have been told. I don't know what I believe...of her, of her prophecy.

[ She does know what she believes, though she can't yet fully accept it, because one knowing cancels out the other. All she can accept is that she is something terrible, and as far as she's concerned, that something is named Vanessa Ives. ]

I know that I am Vanessa Ives, and yet I am...something else. I know what I have dreamt.

You are still you, lady. Whether or not you were something else in another life.

[ he takes a step closer to her, two. ]

What has this to do with your Ethan Chandler?

[ She'll look up to that, as though she must be indignant at the suggestion she could be anyone else anyway, but he means it as honestly as anyone can. Her sigh is soft, silent, and she smiles with a sadness while her voice grates miserably through her words. ]

I know what I am. It is something he's unable to accept, he has said so himself. No one can. No one should.

[ She couldn't blame Ethan, not when he can't even accept the truth of himself, not when she is so much worse. He still cares in his own way, and she loves him for that. None of her friends can truly accept this thing, and nor should they. She will love them all the more for their good will. ]

Shortly before I was brought here, Mr. Chandler... He witnessed me for what I was, and I knew everything was forever changed. He looked to me differently, but even then, it didn't frighten me. His anger, his disgust, I could understand, I could accept, because he was still...with me.

[ His rejection of her darkness still comes with his own form of love, even his reverence at times. Yet, even telling herself that, her chin trembles. She can expect nothing better for herself. ]

But in these moments here where time skipped, I looked and he was no longer there, and I could not bear the loneliness of it.

Edited 2023-09-18 06:49 (UTC)

You say that he is unable to accept you ... and yet you still call him a friend. That he welcomed you upon his arrival here.

Perhaps not everything has changed, as you had thought.

Everything doesn't need to. Only one glance, such a small thing, and yet so much in its singular power.

[ The huff of a laugh is strained, and she slowly shakes her head while looking off to the side. ]

I will always call him my friend, even if he should hate me. My dear friends will always welcome me, I believe—the me that they are willing to accept. And then there will always be another part of me...begrudged the warmth of their embrace. It will never be welcome.

[ How can they be any other way? ]

I know, yes, I know... I must be going mad. It is this place. [ She reaches to press the heel of her palm to her temple. ] I don't know how to...explain why this is different. I only know that for the first time since I have known him, I was afraid to look into the eyes of Ethan Chandler.

[ he takes another step closer to her—close enough to nearly bump into her, only a couple of inches between them, forcefully grabbing her attention away the thoughts no doubt running away with themselves in her head and onto him instead. he inclines his head low to look into her eyes. ]

It is not madness, lady Vanessa. You fear his rejection of you.

[ While rarely one to back away from any approach, even she needs to resist the urge to step back at the sudden proximity, more surprised than intimidated. She has no choice but to look up to retain any politeness, although this sort of closeness has exceeded what could be considered 'polite' space. She doesn't mind, even dropping her hand to settle against his shoulder.

His gaze should be something easy to become lost in, but Vanessa feels soothed to the point that any further rambling slows. The concerns are still there, but if she's able to see Morpheus through them, then they aren't able to overtake her.

She need barely whisper. ]

And only then would he leave.

[ Which now leaves her to wonder what actually happened after she was brought here...or perhaps she needn't wonder at all. Perhaps it's clear as day. Had he already left? Brought here after a departure? Then she truly would rather never ask. ]

Edited (whoops that was the first draft) 2023-09-19 00:46 (UTC)

I find that unlikely, if you consider him a friend.

[ said just as softly as she was with how close they are. but the proximity met his purpose, to distract her from thoughts of madness, to ground her in this moment. the impression of twin stars in his eyes is more apparent like this without actually being visible, but still somehow muted by the humane color of pale blue that he wears on his form. ]

But you must ask him the truth of your separation, of what transpired. Like any other nightmare that you must face to confront your fears and become the master of them.

[ She wouldn't know what it is to master her nightmares, though she had assuredly been on her way to do just that before being kidnapped to this city. Lucifer may not be here, but there are more unknowns than ever. Those nightmares reign, and among them—the greatest of all—is rejection. It's something she is used to, even from friends, especially from family. They loved her, of course they did, but only so long as she was never completely herself. Such friendship is conditional, and it is a tight-rope walk between the life of a monster and that of a demon.

Unlikely, he says. Does Morpheus think friendship should be unconditional? It should be; love should be boundless. Vanessa can only know her love for others as thus—incomplete until the ugliness is embraced with the beauty. She has never known it in return, but it is usually enough to experience it for others. Sometimes, though, the memory of loneliness overcomes, and like now it's all she can remember. She is alone with the other Ethan, with her nightmares and the evil inside.

She is slow to respond for knowing the reality of her friendships and herself, yet glad for his comfort, for the beauty in his gaze reminding her in that echo of hope she used to have. And yet, hope can hurt, too much to live on by itself.

With a trembling sigh, she slowly lowers her gaze and leans forward to rest her head against his shoulder, gripping gently at the lapel and shoulder of his dark coat. Facing away so that she can look to one of the more familiar headstones, Vanessa struggles to keep her eyes dry.

Though she speaks as if in request, in truth the smallness of her voice is a question—no, a plea. ]

Hold me.

[ he remains still for a moment longer, two moments, as if he were considering the wisdom of such an act with a woman he's only met a total of four times. his movements, when they do come, are slow, allowing her the freedom to pull back at any time she wishes.

his arms wrap around her lightly, carefully, as if she were made of glass, though the embrace itself feels a little stiff and stilted, his posture still upright. held at bay even in the intimate closeness. one of his hands settles at her mid-back, his palm noticeably cool even in the cool morning and through the layers of her clothes. the other hand also rests on her shoulder, cupping the back of it so that she might step closer to him and be supported. sheltered. ]

[ Vanessa is hardly one to be tallying the number of meetings as her cause for caring, but for all her posturing, she is a creature motivated by her heart. The value of the connections are what pull her closer, and so few beings in her short life have emboldened her the way he has. His hesitation makes her tense, wondering if she's overstepped, but the shadow of movement is then relief enough for her to close her eyes. By the time his arms have settled so lightly around her, her breathing has settled.

Silently, she steps closer while keeping a gentle hold on his coat, and the tension in her shoulders has somewhat eased while she leans without concern. Where he may be cool, Vanessa runs hot, with an erratic pulse that is slowly evening out.

This will likely end at any moment, but for now, the chill of his embrace is a singular comfort she won't soon forget. ]

[ when he heart begins to slow, she'll feel the very gentle motion of his thumb against her shoulder, rubbing slowly back and forth to soothe her. it's an incredibly small gesture to what anyone else could do while holding her, but it is a gesture of comfort nonetheless. ]

[ The 'small' gesture felt is enough for her grip on his coat to tighten with a surprised twitch. The motion draws her own movement, just enough so she can wrap her arms the rest of the way around him and draw both hands to clutch behind his shoulders.

Still turned away, her voice falls softer than earlier. Less ragged. ]

You know so many stories and dreams and worlds. Do you have favorites? Are they all equal in your eyes?

[ the embrace shifts as she does, the hand on her shoulder sliding to her back between her shoulder blades, is thumb still rubbing slowly there. his other hand now rests delicately on her waist, and his chin tips slightly down so that he can answer her quietly. ]

Could you so easily choose a part of yourself? I am of all stories and dreams as mortals are of breath and life and unconscious thought. I have visited all worlds and will visit those worlds created in the future.

[ The soothing touches feel as though they cool her blood with every little shift, and when her eyes drift back open to stare off into nothing, it's with a heavy-lidded haze. ]

You consider them all to be an equal part of you?

[ Of course she had come to think of him ruling over dreams, managing them somehow, embodying them in a certain way, but not as wholly as he has now described. It's a fascinating consideration, and something that makes her smile to herself. It's bittersweet, though, perhaps a grimace, and fortunately something that's only able to be viewed by the crumbling headstones and twisted trees.

No matter what he says, Vanessa is sure that if given the choice, she could—would do away with the evil inside of her. After all she's done and is prophesied to do, how could she not? ]

Even the nightmares?

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