The scent of those tears he could smell. A sharp scent to the air that made eyes narrow just slightly. Now she held tears for her actions, now regret for the choices made. Where was that pain when it was needed? That regret when it should have swayed her choices from those put into motions. Where was that desire to make him understand when it meant something? After the fact came the guilt. After when there was no going back she tried to show remorse.
Was he to cave at those tears? Abandoned all anger and toss aside all question on just what she had done? Was he to bow at her feet like her servants, eager to take away all pain. To do her bidding to sooth her wounded heart. And what of his own? The cuts she struck against him. She owed him more then those tears. And yet he knew that in this he was owed nothing. Slaves had no place. No strength to demand.
"Of course not mistress." Diarmad spoke in a voice void of emotions. No anger, no heat. No of course she'd not meant to be so long gone. Something had occurred to still her return and once it had...then that desire to deny facing him began to take over. He knew her. He had watched her for hundreds of years now. He had seen her deny, he had watched her turn away. Dismiss that which does not go as she wants...
Wings expanded, a subtle movement to bring him to stand before her. "Your lies become more and more evident through the years mistress" there was the bite, the faint anger lacing through the words that made muscles tense as he gazed upon her. Once he had thought he could save her. That with time he could make her see the world through a different set of eyes. But the years had not changed that which wore him down the most.
It had not changed how she treated him. The disrespect he was constantly forced to take. The harsh strikes to his honor. As man and Gargoyle.
He was no savior. He was no knight. He failed to save his clan long ago and he was unable to save her. Unable to save himself. She wished him to break free of chains she ensured would mean death should he break. He had believed that the less honorable death. Yet now all treated him as though he were coward for surviving.
No matter which way Diarmad looked, he had done wrong. He had failed.
"And yet you knew all you did would. Each word. Each step. And you made them still. You choose to do so mistress. And you will choose to do so again." chose to keep them like this. With the words he fell still, silent. It was all he would speak. He took stance as her slave then. Head bowed, arms folded before him, wings at his back curved downward with submissive shoulders. If she bid him to he would kneel.