[Beatrix simply sits and listens, for once not particularly compelled to leave a hand on her sword, which is normally where it would be. Where it always has been. Can she depend on anyone? Isn't that just like trust? Is someone like her even deserving of that? She doubts it. No matter how much she hears it from Dohalim, from Ira, from Oriphi, from anyone else at all, she doesn't believe it. But that isn't their problem. It's hers.
All of this is her problem. Her burden. Her weight. She can't let anyone else hold it.
"I think you're worthy, Beatrix. No matter what your past and your memories and your nightmares are telling you, too."
No. I am not.
It's distressing to hear it. She doesn't want that kindness, that understanding. Why can't people just leave her alone and let her drown in this? Why can't people just say nothing at all.]
Please...
[She begins, though just starting to say anything makes her feel faint. Her tone betrays her, she's certain, the subtle little waver it holds before she forces herself to restrain. Discipline.]
Please do not say things like that to me. I cannot bear it when you do.
[Pointedly, Beatrix's gaze drops and she can feel her hands tighten on the bench beneath her. The roses behind them touched by Beatrix's disposition drop a petal or two, wither minutely, shudder, and expose the thorns that grow along stems.]
no subject
All of this is her problem. Her burden. Her weight. She can't let anyone else hold it.
"I think you're worthy, Beatrix. No matter what your past and your memories and your nightmares are telling you, too."
No. I am not.
It's distressing to hear it. She doesn't want that kindness, that understanding. Why can't people just leave her alone and let her drown in this? Why can't people just say nothing at all.]
Please...
[She begins, though just starting to say anything makes her feel faint. Her tone betrays her, she's certain, the subtle little waver it holds before she forces herself to restrain. Discipline.]
Please do not say things like that to me. I cannot bear it when you do.
[Pointedly, Beatrix's gaze drops and she can feel her hands tighten on the bench beneath her. The roses behind them touched by Beatrix's disposition drop a petal or two, wither minutely, shudder, and expose the thorns that grow along stems.]