[The feel of Sorey's hand against his own is familiar; he'd known it as a child, been raised alongside it, held it more frequently the last several days as they'd grown accustomed to one another's presence again, to being together, to being alive. By now he knows every callus, every old scar. His body knows this hand, and his heart knows it as Sorey's.
His fingers curl around Sorey's, exhaling in quiet relief, and he lets their company drape over him like the comfort of a warm blanket. Lailah's presence and Sorey's domain push against the malevolence he'd felt cloying at his soul, and slowly, he starts to relax again.
He allows Lailah's question to distract him, focusing on the memories of home, of their childhood, instead of the nightmare he'd let himself fall into. A fairy tale...?]
There was one I remember... a water seraph who lived by the sea grew up watching a human boy who played on the beach. He had a little resonance, but only enough to hear her voice, so she sang to him every day. Over the years he became a man, and she fell in love with him. The seraph loved so deeply that she was afraid malevolence would ruin her if she lost him, so she forged an oath within herself to become human, to live and die by his side. But the price of her oath was her voice... so the human never knew it was her.
[Even reciting it now, he couldn't say for certain what had drawn him to it. There were some parallels, but they were weak at best- he, a water seraph, growing up with Sorey, but as a child he'd never feared that Sorey wouldn't know him. The loss of his resonance hadn't become a real danger until they'd faced Heldalf that first time.
He could sympathize with her plight, so perhaps that was it. He can recognize the ache of knowing that humans are mortal, finite, and that loving someone isn't the same as saving them. Life has never failed to remind him that he's immortal and Sorey is not.
And yet, here they are, holding hands and soothing his fears because he'd been the one to die first.
"It was supposed to be me-! I’m the human!"]
...Gramps said an oath like that was impossible, though. He never liked that one.
["A human should strive to become more like the seraphim, not the other way around. Be careful with stories like that, Mikleo."]
no subject
His fingers curl around Sorey's, exhaling in quiet relief, and he lets their company drape over him like the comfort of a warm blanket. Lailah's presence and Sorey's domain push against the malevolence he'd felt cloying at his soul, and slowly, he starts to relax again.
He allows Lailah's question to distract him, focusing on the memories of home, of their childhood, instead of the nightmare he'd let himself fall into. A fairy tale...?]
There was one I remember... a water seraph who lived by the sea grew up watching a human boy who played on the beach. He had a little resonance, but only enough to hear her voice, so she sang to him every day. Over the years he became a man, and she fell in love with him. The seraph loved so deeply that she was afraid malevolence would ruin her if she lost him, so she forged an oath within herself to become human, to live and die by his side. But the price of her oath was her voice... so the human never knew it was her.
[Even reciting it now, he couldn't say for certain what had drawn him to it. There were some parallels, but they were weak at best- he, a water seraph, growing up with Sorey, but as a child he'd never feared that Sorey wouldn't know him. The loss of his resonance hadn't become a real danger until they'd faced Heldalf that first time.
He could sympathize with her plight, so perhaps that was it. He can recognize the ache of knowing that humans are mortal, finite, and that loving someone isn't the same as saving them. Life has never failed to remind him that he's immortal and Sorey is not.
And yet, here they are, holding hands and soothing his fears because he'd been the one to die first.
"It was supposed to be me-! I’m the human!"]
...Gramps said an oath like that was impossible, though. He never liked that one.
["A human should strive to become more like the seraphim, not the other way around. Be careful with stories like that, Mikleo."]