Because comfort without action, without resolution, doesn't often leave a lasting mark. [ In some situations, certainly it does, but not like this. ] The Imprints are...
[ A problem. A boon. Too vulnerable. ]
They help, I can't deny that. But it's...difficult. It rankles you too, doesn't it?
[ Again, a stab of guilt. It's quieter this time, though she doesn't think it will ever go away. Pom had others before her but she still shouldn't have put him in a situation where it added to his difficulties.
About Viktor, well. She has to hum about that, considering. ]
Others have suggested the same to me. That cooperating with the other soul would make things easier. But it... I can't. Not if there's a chance I'll lose myself.
[ And what about that other soul? Does it even want to be so close? What if her own soul snuffs it out, devours it? It seems cruel. ]
[He pushes a sigh from deep in his chest as Mel cuts right to the heart of the matter on all fronts.]
I can't risk it, either. Can't risk losing myself to this other Soul... or to the Imprinting. I don't—
[The words stick in his throat, and it takes another breath to get them out. 'Difficult' is a kinder word than he'd use for it.]
I don't want to be... controlled in some way. And I know the Imprinting ain't like that, but it feels like it sometimes. Like I can't help myself with them - like I'd do anything they asked, no matter how loathsome. And the whole time, that other Soul in me wants it too, and I don't know where what it wants ends and what I want begins.
[ Because she does. It's the tightrope they're all walking but it's one the both of them are most keenly aware of. Ignore one's Imprints and lose themselves to madness; give in and find themselves at the mercy of what happens to those people, but possibly to be subsumed in the other soul's whimsies. The line between what is real and what is pantomimed in a phantom bond becomes murky. Often, she wonders if some of these alliances and friendships โ she supposes that's what they can be called โ are real.
It rails against something deep in her chest, deeper than that other soul. It beckons claws around her fragile heart and threatens to squeeze.
If these are all lies, then how many people has she manipulated to aid her, to be friendly to her, to be by her side? How many people is she lying to? And when will they leave, so she can be alone (and lonely) once more? ]
It's a mess. Everything's too tangled. [ She rises and comes to sit beside him on the couch, still maintaining enough distance to not touch, but close enough to reach with no trouble at all. ] I start to question what's real. If all of this is just fabricated and if I'm tugging people along by strings.
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[ A problem. A boon. Too vulnerable. ]
They help, I can't deny that. But it's...difficult. It rankles you too, doesn't it?
[ Again, a stab of guilt. It's quieter this time, though she doesn't think it will ever go away. Pom had others before her but she still shouldn't have put him in a situation where it added to his difficulties.
About Viktor, well. She has to hum about that, considering. ]
Others have suggested the same to me. That cooperating with the other soul would make things easier. But it... I can't. Not if there's a chance I'll lose myself.
[ And what about that other soul? Does it even want to be so close? What if her own soul snuffs it out, devours it? It seems cruel. ]
no subject
I can't risk it, either. Can't risk losing myself to this other Soul... or to the Imprinting. I don't—
[The words stick in his throat, and it takes another breath to get them out. 'Difficult' is a kinder word than he'd use for it.]
I don't want to be... controlled in some way. And I know the Imprinting ain't like that, but it feels like it sometimes. Like I can't help myself with them - like I'd do anything they asked, no matter how loathsome. And the whole time, that other Soul in me wants it too, and I don't know where what it wants ends and what I want begins.
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[ Because she does. It's the tightrope they're all walking but it's one the both of them are most keenly aware of. Ignore one's Imprints and lose themselves to madness; give in and find themselves at the mercy of what happens to those people, but possibly to be subsumed in the other soul's whimsies. The line between what is real and what is pantomimed in a phantom bond becomes murky. Often, she wonders if some of these alliances and friendships โ she supposes that's what they can be called โ are real.
It rails against something deep in her chest, deeper than that other soul. It beckons claws around her fragile heart and threatens to squeeze.
If these are all lies, then how many people has she manipulated to aid her, to be friendly to her, to be by her side? How many people is she lying to? And when will they leave, so she can be alone (and lonely) once more? ]
It's a mess. Everything's too tangled. [ She rises and comes to sit beside him on the couch, still maintaining enough distance to not touch, but close enough to reach with no trouble at all. ] I start to question what's real. If all of this is just fabricated and if I'm tugging people along by strings.