XX3 Entry - [A Dream within a Dream] - Early September

[roseofmay]

Sender: Beatrix
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive Dream Recording
Warnings: Likely potentially upsetting content. Implications of genocide. I’m going to try to explore this as gently, respectfully, and carefully as I can, but I do emphasise to proceed with caution.
Notes: A dream depicting Beatrix reflecting on some of the war crimes she committed in her home world. It is longer than I expected it to be.

Have some sounds of rain for ambiance.

It is not uncommon for Beatrix to patrol at night, usually following her dreams. It is safe to assume that post this dream, that’s precisely what she does. Feel free to encounter her in person (out on patrol, at her residence) or via journals, though with the latter, it is unlikely she will respond immediately. Assume journal responses are after an applicable amount of time, depending on circumstance.


Her dreams most oft are accompanied intimately by rain. Sometimes, it is the blistering sound of wind. Occasionally, the consistent roar of airship engines and the turning of gears. And every once in a while, it is the sound of wood splitting and cracking, followed by a flash of light and the deafening explosion that trails after in its wake.

Tonight, it is rain. A sky looms overhead, blanketed by dark clouds and the occasional tendril of lightning. The blue-grey cobblestone pathways are soaked, so much so that in places where the footpaths dip after years of wear and tear, they are filled with reflective and rippling puddles of water. The front entrance stone archway is intricately detailed and has been standing for too many years to count, established likely earlier than some native to the world may think.

Welcome to Burmecia, the Realm of Eternal Rain.

It holds nothing precious, except life. Life that Beatrix, general of Alexandria, has been tasked with taking.

This is something that has already happened. Beatrix simply replays it near nightly, and the dreams rarely seem to change. Her boots echo softly on the ground in a momentary eerie silence and behind her where she has already been, the environment simply turns to stone. A broken down cart knocked over, its wares splattered on the pathway and up against the wall of a nearby multilevel home, once in muted colour now sits in permanent disarray in chilling sculpture.

There are figures slumped. On the grounds. Draped over stairways and metal bannisters. Burmecians—a race of ratlike people, tall in stature, tailed, with pointed ears and pointed noses.

For years, Alexandria and Burmecia have waged wars upon one another. Pitted against each other, the concept of war is not so foreign, though perhaps disappointing when the continent at large believed to be ushering in an era of peace. What has happened here, however, is not war at all. It is only conquest. Only eradication of the Burmecian people. A simple little test conducted by Queen Brahne of Alexandria, utilising constructed black mage dolls with no will of their own and only the orders pounding in their doll heads. The leader of this charge, this show of overwhelming power and influence, is none other than Beatrix, compelled by order and the lust in her veins for something she cannot quite understand, a realisation that she will not come to learn for a great deal of time following.

The Beatrix of today, the one stepping through this replay of a chapter of her life that she has kept hidden and closely held to her heart, is not identical. Not different, but only a part of the woman who carried this out in so impeccably a fashion.

As she steps, there are voices, many words that are garbled and incomprehensible, blending in with the sounds of the pitter-patter of the rain as it strikes. If one listens closely, an occasional scream, a memory left over from an otherwise desolate and ruined city-state, disrespected and torn asunder by invasion. Some lines of memory highlight the tense air in voices that are not Beatrix’s as she continues this reunion with this intimate knowledge of her past.

”That’s Beatrix? The cold-blooded knight who knows no mercy. Beatrix…”

In the square of the city-state, the homes in the vicinity are worn down, most of them only partially standing. A curving bridge pathway leads to the towering, ominous, and impressive figure of Burmecia’s castle, stretching tall towards the sky as lightning flashes about it.

”...Beatrix of Alexandria, in particular. They say her swordsmanship is the best in the land.”

As she moves along, Save the Queen in the grip of her right hand, a chain that binds her to obligation and her role, there are but glimpses, moving images for just moments that betray the chaos that ensued upon her initial charge. The movement of feet and the blur of bodies before they’re cut down or subjected to the magicks of the black mages. As she takes to the bridge and its connecting path, the commotion freezes, transposing image and concept to stone and reality, like macabre decor in a courtyard.

Before the entrance, it’s her own voice that echoes in a stunning clarity. An embittered laugh, hand-in-hand with chilled tone. Unfeeling. Uncaring. So professional and emotionally detached that one would think Beatrix feels nothing at all in this exchange, except an irritation. In what, one can only theorise.

”I have never been so humiliated in my life.”

The castle stands above her and she finds in its centre, a couple of grandiose statues, some of the only things remaining that have yet to be broken down and destroyed. There is the lingering memory of Queen Brahne in search of Burmecia’s king, only to find by way of a charming and sinister man, the one who has provided her so much power to begin with, that the king has fled to the tree protected by the wind—Cleyra.

There are other things to note. A couple—Burmecian woman standing alongside a tailed statue that some may recognise as Zidane, the cunning and charismatic companion to many. They possess no movement. Only presence in colour doused in greys. And she hears herself again, the same chill wrapping her in tight embrace.

”I once killed a hundred knights single-handedly… To me, you two are nothing more than insects.”

Approaching them each, one after the other, Beatrix lifts a hand and she settles it to the forearm of the Burmecian she will one day come to know as Freya and it takes only touch for her to join her statued brethren. There is a moment’s pause as she examines a Zidane that once was part of her past. In Reverein, he may not have forgiven her, but he never seemed to hold her actions against her and Beatrix, to this moment, to this very breath, still cannot understand why. The only clue she has ever had is that the Beatrix of his future is different than the one who was the head of this calamity.

Settling hand to his shoulder, she puts him to rest, and lifts her chin to hear her voice once more. A woman who is only a part of her, but perhaps one she has yet to embrace. To this moment, she has only ever admonished and condemned herself, placing distance between her person and others, knowing that she would rather be hated than pitied, rather hated than forgiven.

”How ridiculously weak… Is there not anyone who is worthy of facing me?”

For the moments that follow, she simply stands in the rain, drenched, sword dropped low at her side, and she stares at the muted sombre sky, foreboding and dreadful. The words that follow are her own.

“The only thing I have granted to the Burmecian people is a grand tomb, forever frozen in time, place, and circumstance.”

They are the last and only words she manages to say before she too, turns to stone like those around her. This moment has no end. An interior part of her that refuses to weather and is only subjected to an infinite rain, marking the abrupt end to a dream that Beatrix never forces herself to finish.

Comments

late night, post-patrol

[menancia]

[When Beatrix returns home from her patrols, she will find that the windows are not dark as she had left them— there is a soft glow coming from the kitchen, though no sign of distress or forced entry. When she enters, she will find Dohalim sitting at her table with two teacups, one before him and one in front of the seat across, with a teapot set precisely between the two as he calmly leafs through his journal, looking up only when he hears the door itself open.

She may not be happy to find that he's made himself at home here, but knowing that she would likely be patrolling after such a dream, he had thought it best to give her the necessary space to process what she must and wait until she was ready to return home to speak to her.

Simply messaging her through the journals had not, apparently, occurred to him.]

How was your patrol?

[roseofmay]

[It is very likely, very probable, that she has yet to really understand just what has transpired. To her, this is all very routine. She has nightmares. She can't sleep. She makes herself useful and does her best to ensure that she doesn't take notice of anything untoward. And eventually, she returns home. Sometimes she attempts sleep again. Most of the time she does not.

Being greeted by the glow as she's pausing in the doorway, she hesitates before entering, setting hand atop the pommel of her sword. A thief, perhaps? Couldn't be someone intentional, she's sure. There are few who know of her residence and even fewer who would rightfully be visiting her at this hour when it seems like Reverein is in the midst of a dead sleep. Which is where she should probably be.

Finding Dohalim at the table with tea no less is probably the very last thing she's anticipated. Audibly, she sighs. Is that relief? Perhaps something very close to it. But it's interesting that he knows what she was doing. Perhaps he's seen her do it before. Or perhaps it's because he knows her so well. It's not as if Beatrix being on patrol is anything new, after all.]

Are you having difficulty with something? Just because we are—

[As per the usual, her words don't fully come out because she's simply not good at being forward. Instead, she removes her sword belt and its accoutrements before she moves to take the chair across from him. It doesn't take her long to reach for the tea.]

It is late, Dohalim. Thank you for the tea. What are you doing here?

[menancia]

[He shakes her head as she asks after whether or not he is having some difficulty; there is nothing she need concern herself with, at least not on that front, but he does not interrupt her, allowing her to change course and adjust her approach as she wishes.]

It is late, and I do apologize for the intrusion, but I thought tea might be in order.

[It's not unusual in the least for her to patrol at night, and yet tonight seems a different story altogether. He smiles faintly when she takes the seat across from him, adjusting his own angle so that he can look at her directly as he proceeds to at last fill his own cup, now that she is here to share the tea itself.]

I do not know if you are aware, but... I caught a glimpse of your dreams tonight.

[roseofmay]

[He's waited for her. This... It's all quite deliberate. And the words that follow cause a flutter of cold to dig right into her, eventually scaling up along her back as she says nothing for several moments. What is there to say? Should she even say anything? Yes. She knows. Diluc has made that apparent. Who can say how many people have had the opportunity to see such a thing?

There's a part of her, perhaps a younger version of herself that would like nothing more than to bury her face in her arms and disappear for a month and maybe people will have forgotten anything they've seen and heard. It's cowardly and telling. To think she's gone from an arrival where she only wanted to keep people at bay, and now at a point where she's fostered close kinship with many people and they are coming to learn of a truth in the woman they may have thought of so highly.

It'll all fall apart. Everything she's compromised herself for will just shatter, merely proof that she never should have tried to be anything much military to begin with.

Instead of doing any such thing, Beatrix drops her gaze into the innards of her tea, simply holding it between her hands.]

I see.

[After a breath more, she draws in her composure, fiercely holding it together, before her hold on her cup tightens.]

I suppose all of Songerein will be privy to the truth of who and what I am, then.

[menancia]

I would not go so far as to say all.

[For truly, how can they know how many had watched? He realizes that such a remark is likely cold comfort— admittedly, this is a situation in which he does not know what may or may not be tactful. Tact, he thinks, is not the most important thing at the moment, regardless. Truth, instead, will be more helpful.

He does not sip from his own cup just yet, but calmly pulls it closer to himself as he looks her over, studying her posture. She is holding herself together well, but with great effort.]

I imagine such memories were not a pleasant thing to revisit in your dreams. I would also venture that it is hardly the first time.

[He's been haunted by nightmares of his own past deeds. He knows full well how these things go.]

... there were moments in that dream where I did not recognize the woman I have come to know.

[roseofmay]

[Should that reassure her? It is likely that some will see and have no idea what they are witnessing. And there are some, she is sure, who are familiar with her, have created some kind of idea about her, and in moments, she will have failed all of that. Her entire life has been ruled by expectations. Society's. Her queen's. Her own. The role she's been forced to place.

No one would take a military general seriously if she were as charitable as her insides may be.

His words strike true. She hardly sleeps, she thinks. Can't seem to recall when she had a full night's rest. He probably does understand. The same as likely Diluc does. Or that Eustace probably would. In a rare display of insecurity, or something very much akin to it, her fingertips tap along her teacup.

Her thoughts are everywhere. Many of them wondering how such a thing could come to pass. It may have been a blessing if this had happened so much sooner. She is almost damning that it didn't. Because at least then... At least then she could have created that distance sooner. The taste of close companionship has spoilt her.]

The conquest of Burmecia was... [Beatrix begins thoughtfully, slowly, as if she's still trying to piece it all together. Her mouth twitches, like the words just won't come out, if she even knows what she means to say.] It was something. If I start saying that the woman who led that charge was not me, it is not true. Things happened precisely as they did. I went in without question, did what was demanded of me, and felt nothing whilst doing it. As if I had never felt anything at all. They were only orders. All that mattered was what Her Majesty wanted. And I, at that time, perhaps I had no thoughts, no feelings of my own. Or perhaps I simply did not care.

[She shakes her head and she finally takes a long drink from her teacup, as though it might soothe some of the tremor in her touch.]

That Beatrix. This Beatrix. They are just the same. Inside of me somewhere must linger still that unfeeling portion. I wanted to say that I am not that same woman, but that may not be true. The only difference is that I can look at it all now with sense, with clear mind, and feel that regret. Not that my regret means anything. It does not and I know that.

[menancia]

Regret has meaning.

[For a long while, he allows her to speak her mind uninterrupted, only listens with his cup of tea in his hands, offering her nothing less than his full attention. This has weighed heavily on her for some time; he had known her to insist she was a monster, that none should waste their time seeking her companionship, but these things are hardly that simple.

Most people are more than their worst deeds, mistakes or otherwise.]

It means you have the capacity to care. To know right from wrong. It does not bring back what was lost, no— you cannot go back and grant those people their lives again now that they have been taken, but as you said, you are able to look at what was done with sense and clarity. Even given orders, do you think you could stomach to do such a thing again?

[Personally, he does not think so.]

[roseofmay]

[Instead of providing him with immediate response, Beatrix takes some moments to attempt seeking solace in her cup of tea. For once, she doesn't have an interest in immediately arguing. There's no counter. No protest. No retaliatory comment. It's a little unlike her, but perhaps that's to be expected given the situation.

At his question, Beatrix lowers her teacup and for several long moments, she simply leans onto her forearms. Her gaze is focused intently on the table, though there's nothing particularly interesting about it. She'd like to say she wouldn't, but...

Hasn't she always been about requirement and duty? Doesn't she have any thoughts of her own?]

I would like to think I would not. I am here the way I am now because of the people here. Because of Zidane when he was here. You. And the others. There is no way to know if when I should go back that I will continue to be the way I am now.

[Eventually she lifts her attention onto him and she draws in a deep breath. Many, many things have happened recently. It feels as if she carries the weight of all of them atop her shoulders. She wonders how long she can keep that up.]

I have often wondered if I had to choose between my own feelings and obligation, which it might be. I told myself I would always have to pick my role over anything else. I think I am not as strong as I have presented myself to be. That perhaps, I never have been.

[Her faith in herself is shaken.]

[menancia]

[He considers her answer, the weight of it and all its potential, letting silence hang between them for several moments as he takes another long sip of his tea, letting her words steep as the tea had done not so long ago.]

The influence of others certainly may have helped you along, but there has to have been some part of you that wished to change or allow such influence in the first place, even if you weren’t quite aware of it at the time. You would not have blossomed so if not.

[Which, to him, means the capacity for change was there all along, just as it had been within him, as well.]

You may recall that I am intimately familiar with such phenomenon. If you are not as strong as you have presented yourself to be, it is not a failing. Perhaps you expect the impossible from yourself. We have all taken wrong turns— you reminded me of that, once.

[roseofmay]

Perhaps.

[How can she know for sure? How long had she been following Brahne? Initially, it had been without question. Even in Burmecia, she had been uncertain, but still willing. In Cleyra, she finally really started to question it all.]

I am not certain there is a way to tell. I know that I am not the same person I was before coming here. I know that as things are now, I cannot ever return to that person I was before. Protecting the Alexandros line is not just about guarding them from threats, from fighting their wars for them that they may not have to. It is about protecting the people they lead. Protecting those who will follow. I have no interest in being a warmonger. In these pursuits of conquest. I only want to protect the people I care for.

[Even as she says it, she can feel how true and solid the words are in her bones. In her desires. Has she ever wanted anything more than that? Perhaps not. When he continues, she offers him something of an uncertain nod. He's right. She did make mention of it before. Why are his circumstances any different from her own? Is it because she expects better of herself? Imperfection is fine for one Dohalim il Qaras, but not for herself?]

I suppose how I perceive myself is very different from how I perceive you. Or others, for that matter. It may not be an easy thing for me to forgive in general, but it is easier to do when it comes from someone else who is not me. Perhaps we are all like that. I never sought forgiveness for what happened in Burmecia, or what followed after. I would never ask for it. My interests are not in atonement. But one day, it would be nice if I could help with my hands, instead of destroy.

[menancia]

[He lets out a soft, thoughtful hum of understanding as he listens to her response in full, his hand coming to rest against the table, softly drumming his fingers against its surface just once as he considers. It is something of a parallel to conversations they've had in the past, only now there is more that is known, more that is in the open, whether she likes it or not.

Regardless, his response remains the same.]

We are all our own harshest critics. I do not believe that to be a terrible thing— if one is to be accountable for their actions, then that requires us to accept what we have done at our worst. That others might see past these things and help us to see the way forward, we should consider ourselves fortunate. You and I have spoken of forgiveness many times in the past. Whether or not we may seek it, some may choose to offer it. Some may not. I believe that atonement is not all it is said to be— what has been done cannot be undone, but we can all do something better moving forward. I know you would never ask for forgiveness.

[He pauses now, the moment weighted as he takes a long sip from his tea before he continues.]

I do believe that you have the capacity to do just as you wish, however— help with your hands, rather than harm. I think that you could do it anywhere, but this place offers us ample opportunities to do just that, don't you think? Help. Improve ourselves. Explore what we have to offer.

[roseofmay]

What I do here will not matter back in Gaia. Burmecia. Alexandria. Cleyra. The people there will not know of the Beatrix I am here or now. Not to say that I think my efforts are completely for nothing. Those here benefit from what I can offer. If I can earn that right to offer it.

[Because she can easily admit that nothing for her ought to be easy. That she ought to earn every single thing that comes her way. If only because the most convenient things tend to be traps. Too good to be true. Or maybe Beatrix is simply too jaded to have want of such a thing.]

But I am not foolish enough to believe that the weight of my actions here will carry over. I will not live my life here telling myself something untrue, be it for selfish or selfless reasons.

[menancia]

The people there will not know— but you will. That is a victory in and of itself.

[It does not change what has already come to pass, because nothing can, but there is something to be said for self-improvement for its own sake. Even with that mindset, it is unlikely to be easy, but Beatrix has never struck him as one to take the easy path.]

It is... hard to say, what impact our deeds here will have in the future. You are likely right, that their weight will not carry over, but there is a part of me that wants to believe something within us will remember.

[Otherwise, everything they do here, the bonds they form... would those, too, be for nothing?]

I cannot let myself believe our time in this place to be meaningless.

[roseofmay]

["I cannot let myself believe our time in this place to be meaningless."

It's a foolish thought, really. Beatrix doesn't say it. Won't say it. Not in this circumstance. Not with all that's been said and done, especially betwixt them. To do so would only be insulting. Mostly to him and his efforts and she has better sense. But she suspects it's evident in her expression, even as her gaze drops back into her tea, that she doesn't agree with him. That she's never agreed with such a notion.

The only thing she's ever really wanted, or so she's told herself, since arrival, is to go back. It's in part the reason she refused to grow close to others. But time has had its way with her. She doesn't like thinking about how it's changed her or how she perceives things here.]

I suppose one day perhaps we will all find out how true that is.

[She feels like it's the only thing she can say. Surely she has filled enough of this conversation with her struggles and her dangerously calculative and cold way of perceiving the world and the people in it.]

I hope for your sake, and for the others here, that you are right.

[menancia]

[Part of him thinks that they might never agree on this point; even if she doesn't say so, it is written across her face. Even if they never agree, it may be for the better— they both have different perspectives to offer one another, points worth giving deeper consideration, and the fact of the matter is that there is no simple answer to any of it. What he wants to believe is not proven, but something he chooses to believe for his own peace of mind.

All that could be dashed in an instant— but he is in no hurry to see such a thing happen.]

Perhaps we will. I confess, I would not mind taking my time getting to that point.

[He does not want to rush through the time they have here, quite selfishly.]

I would like to be right. I am prepared to be proven wrong, but in this one thing... I would rather do away with humility, if I might.

[roseofmay]

I—

[For just a moment, her words lock in her throat. She's dipping her gaze again, because that is something she can agree on. As much as she could claim that tomorrow she could wake, return to the world she knows well, and give not a second thought to things here, she doesn't want that to be the case. She isn't ready to say a farewell to anyone of them.

Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Perhaps because she has come to value what they mean to her and what changes they have made in her life.]

I would not mind that either.

[Her confession is a touch quiet, easily drowned out by the rest of the noise in her head, even if it's quite plainly said in his presence.]

I am not ready to leave the things in this world behind. I have likely thought that more than I would be willing to say it. Surely the sharing of my dreams, of the past that lingers behind me, would put all of that in jeopardy. The fear of that is very real. The fear that those I care for will look at me differently. Decide that I am somehow less than worthy. A grave disappointment. I am not certain how strong I am to face that. I act strong, but perhaps that is just a ruse sometimes.

[She suspects she would be devastated if in the face of such things Dohalim couldn't bear to look at her.]

[menancia]

[It is not an easy confession for her to make, he imagines— it would be difficult for anyone, but Beatrix has so long defined herself by her role and her duties back home that he's certain it must be especially challenging. He simply offers her a nod of understanding as she shares her thoughts aloud, taking another long, measured sip from his cup.]

Strength is not merely being untouchable.

[She is strong, regardless of how she might feel.]

It is also the ability to face hardship and uncertainty, to get back up when they would otherwise hold one down. I cannot say how others will react to what has been shared with certainty, but as someone who cares for you, I know hearts are not so easily changed. I also know full well that our misdeeds are a part of us and shape us going forward. I should think that anyone who witnessed what was shown would also consider the Beatrix they know today— she is not a woman easily forgotten.

[roseofmay]

[”Strength is not merely being untouchable.”

Isn’t it, though? No. Perhaps not. Strength and other like concepts are rarely so simple. There is always something more beyond the surface level of an idea. Surely this feeling she has now, the uncertainty, will eventually fade. She can only hope.

She finishes her cup of tea, crossing one hand over the other as she turns her attention back onto him.]

Just because you can see the difference and your heart is tied to me the way it is does not mean that the hearts of others is quite the same. There is no one else here who feels the way you do. There is no one else here who views me the way you do.

[A blessing, that. It’s been difficult enough traversing this once. She’s not sure she could handle a repeat.]

One has to admit that you have a personal bias in this situation. One that I suppose I am grateful for. It would have been very difficult to be faced with your disappointment. Or your hatred.

[menancia]

Bias, perhaps, but also experience.

[He levels his gaze at her; his own sins do not need to be repeated in this moment, but they both know full well of what he speaks.]

You have seen that there is more to me, regardless, and you are not the only one. My feelings may well effect how I view you, past and present, but there are many ways for hearts to be tied, and not all of them romantic. There are people here who care for you in their own ways. I cannot believe they would dismiss you out of hand simply because they learned something new.

[This information might challenge them, yes, may cause conflicting feelings, but he does not believe it to be enough to make anyone turn on her. Everyone has a history of some sort.]

For whatever it may be worth, I could never hate you. You needn’t concern yourself with that.

[roseofmay]

[Experience. Yes. Beatrix’s instinct is to protest that her own crimes are surely worse than anything Dohalim did with the people of Viscint. (Or didn’t do, as the case was.) But that is an unfair thing to say and this, for once, is not a competition betwixt the two of them. She ought not to view it as such.

She does not seem so convinced. That may be coloured by her own perspective. It hurts far more to be betrayed by someone one loves than otherwise. On the contrary, in her perspective, those who have grown close to her or harboured affection for her in their own way have even more of a reason to dislike her. It truly can go in any number of ways. Some may feel an understanding for her position, those who know the whole of the situation. Some may simply feel she’s gone too far and she’s irredeemable. Some may simply not know what to think and require the time to consider where their feelings lie.

Nothing about any of that is simple.]

Far easier said than done on all accounts, Dohalim.

[But he knows that, too.]

I should think that all I can do, all I wish to do, is provide answers to those with questions. The judgements others make of me, I would want them to be honest with themselves for it. Perhaps that is defeatist of me to say. Regardless of my situation, how things came to be, the things I did or said or believed, the person I am now, sometimes… the intention does not matter, only the end result. I have to be willing to accept that. I fear the loss of those around me, but at the same time, I want to honour those who I consider close. And their feelings.

[Loosing another long, drawn-out sigh, Beatrix dips down to the table, resting her cheek against her wrist in consideration.]

I will do my best to simply proceed forward and handle things as they come.

[menancia]

It is easier said than done, yes.

[Perhaps an overly simplistic way of summing things up, but he does not dismiss the rest of what she's said, rather takes another few moments to give it due thought, finishing the contents of his cup as he does so before setting it down at last. A frown tugs at his delicate lips, and he reaches out to lay his hand against her own, his thumb lightly brushing against her cheek in the process.]

I do not think it is defeatist in the least. Of the two of us, I know myself to be the optimist— when it comes to others.

[Less so when it comes to his own deeds, but this is not about him.]

You are intent on being honest, regardless of how painful that truth may be and what you confess to fear, and that is quite something to offer those who have come to know you. I think it to be quite courageous, myself.

[roseofmay]

[His hand moves to touch hers and she realises that she needs it more than she would have thought. That is, she wouldn’t have thought herself to need it at all. The reassurance in his words has been fine. She’d thought she would be satisfied with just that. Rather, that she had no right to want anything more of him. In the end, Beatrix has not developed expectations of him, finding it a touch unfair to do so. He can treat her as fleeting as he wishes.

…It matters not to her. Or so she might outwardly claim.

But when she thinks about how it feels for his thumb to dust across the back of her hand, she shifts. In the moments that follow, she covers his hand with one of her other hands and she simply eyes him. He genuinely believes that. That she’s courageous. Facing things knowing that they will likely not end well for her.]

I can let you be the optimist betwixt us. For this situation, that is. I imagine I would play such a role if our positions were reversed.

[In truth, she did. Multiple times for him. Even when she made her own discoveries of him, she wanted to support him. She didn’t want him to berate himself. To think horrid things of himself. When she looks back on it now, she wouldn’t do anything to change that. It was the right thing to do.]

[menancia]

You have already done so.

[He smiles faintly; she likely does not need to be reminded of such, memorable as those moments were, but it is important to him that she know he appreciated those efforts. He still does; he would have remained mired deep in his own doubts and paralyzed by that nightmare made manifest if not for her aid in wresting himself from its clutches.]

I am more than happy to return the favor— though this is more than that. I maintain I would feel the same way regardless of what you had done for me. I will not pretend that this reveal won’t bring forth new challenges, but I know you are capable of rising to meet them. It would take far more than this to defeat you, if it could be done at all.

[He’s said it before, and he will say it again: she is a formidable woman.]

You needn’t believe such, if it is too much. I will believe enough for the both of us.

[roseofmay]

[She takes his words at face value. What else can she do with them? He means them. There would be no point in arguing against them. She doesn’t feel strong enough to fight. To continue this fight that she’s already been in the midst of, but if Dohalim believes she can, as much as anyone else may think the same of her, she doesn’t like the idea of disappointing him.

Or anyone else.

At least, no more than she likely already has.]

I may believe it in time. You will understand if right now that is a touch difficult for me. Not impossible. Only difficult.

[In the face of something so fresh, it would stand to reason that she would not face this with ease.]

I appreciate you coming to check on me. I think I am sufficiently level now. You can go home, Dohalim. I can handle things from here.

[menancia]

Of course, I understand.

[All too well. These things are never simple; it is far easier for him to say these things than it is for her to believe them, he is certain. Even if she does believe, the reality of the situation still presents a difficult challenge and a great amount of uncertainty. For a woman who has never allowed herself to have much in the way of friends, he would dare say that the thought of losing their favor now that she does have them is frightening in its own right, though he would never suggest as much aloud.

A part of her that she had not cared to speak of, that she had left behind in her own world, had been revealed against her will. Nothing about that was going to be easy.

He looks hesitant at her suggestion, his lips pulling into a delicate frown, brows slightly furrowed.]

I also understand if you truly wish to be alone. I will respect your desire for privacy, if so, but... I do not mind staying, if you will have me.

[It hadn't exactly been a hardship for him to come here in the first place.]