Re: Third Class ; Dining
Her threads had been severed the moment she was cast out and this simple touch, an entwinement of fingers, helped lessen the sting. It helped her forget what it was like to fall, to watch the heavens growing farther and farther away as the stars blurred in their inky canvas and her nerves were lit on fire, blazing and burning even after she made contact. And so this was precious, something clung to almost greedily, and she blinked wide eyes as she mentioned after. It took some effort but she thought, and she thought, and she remembered normal. She remembered a place where she'd never fallen because she had always been here, no scars on her back and disgrace clinging to her like a dirty gown. It felt like a dream, but she remembered, and she nodded. "Okay," she said softly. "Yes. Okay." The freedom to say what she liked, to give permission if she chose, was exhilarating, and she was rapidly forgetting all the warnings of humans and men and strangers.
She liked being listened to. It made her feel important, and she liked that too. "It's not perfect," she confided. "Where I came from. Some think it is, but it's not. It's nice. Safe. But not perfect." His mournful tone made her sad in turn, and she wanted to find a way to tell him that the good outweighed the bad, it did; that had been ingrained within her, and even with her new-found freedom her optimism remained. "As long as there's good," she told him, "there's hope."
His question puzzled her. He was a boy, wasn't he? A human. He wasn't the Devil in disguise, she would have known, surely. "Why wouldn't I?" A pause, and she bit her lip. "Who are you truly?"