Ah. Beauregard, at first. And then, when I tried to just ignore her because she was an illusion . . . my old teacher. [Grimacing a little at that.] A very disgusting person. It had me deciding fake Beauregard was better.
At the end, too, that pink-haired person . . . he changed to look like my mother.
I feel that a bit, too. I spent a lot of my life weak and hiding. Only recently have I become powerful enough to feel I can change things. . . only to lose it again.
[things can often just be broken down into one step in front of the next. one thing after another. one mercenary contract finished, one battle fought, another class over, and the next begun. but always forward, with certainty. there was no need to think too deeply about it—just go.]
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[the fingers on her hand not in a sling twitch slightly on the edge of the table, then tense.]
I would trade with him.
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[He. . . reaches out, a little hesitantly, and touches her hand on the table.]
I. . . maybe it is silly to say so now. But I. . . I lost my parents, too.
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she curls her fingers around his, silently, line of sight very much elsewhere, voice dropping low.]
I'm sorry I acted how I did.
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[His voice is soft, understanding. He won't say there's nothing to be sorry for, but. . . ]
I get it. I do.
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Do you remember what happened? Before we all fought.
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[Scratching at his arm a little.]
You saw me - they drove me a little crazy with all of that.
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[...]
But I don't remember anything happening before that.
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Who did you fight.
Rupert said he faced someone he knew.
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At the end, too, that pink-haired person . . . he changed to look like my mother.
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I'm sorry.
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I regret that I couldn't save his life.
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Everyone.
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[But he says that gently, too.]
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[...
a little part of her expression crumbles, heartbreak peeking through.]
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It isn't all on your shoulders, either.
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[she looks like she's about to say something—then stops, and shakes her head, eyes flicking downward.
instead, she simply squeezes his hand back, mutely wrapping her fingers around a little tighter.]
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[He'll sit here with her, though and just let her do that.]
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No. You're right.
I don't have any power here.
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It feels like I have my hands tied.
[...]
At least one, literally.
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[things can often just be broken down into one step in front of the next. one thing after another. one mercenary contract finished, one battle fought, another class over, and the next begun. but always forward, with certainty. there was no need to think too deeply about it—just go.]
Here, I feel as if I'm getting turned around.
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