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Qebhet (coolwaters) wrote in nevermore_logs,

There was a rawness in Melpomene's gaze, a depth of loss and lostness that pinned Qebhet where she stood.

If she hadn't known who the goddess was, hadn't seen the violent gouges that Melpomene's knife had rent in Ronan's flesh, she would never have hesitated. She would have welcomed her in and guided her to the family room, with its comfortable couches and ample supply of tissues. She would have brewed a pot of tea, and she would have listened, and she would have tried to find the words to bring ease to the hurt in those eyes.

If she hadn't known.

The thought struck a discomforting chord. It should have made no difference who Melpomene was. Judgement was reserved for the weighing. When a soul came before her, parched and frightened, Qebhet didn't question the contents of their heart. She turned nobody away.

It should have made no difference, except... she was all too acutely aware that Kaden's body had been rent apart over the infant now snuggled against Melpomene's chest, and the knowledge curdled in her stomach.

(She couldn't be blamed for fighting back. She couldn't be blamed for trying to claw back the son who'd been ripped from her arms. She couldn't be blamed for the horrors that Ares had inflicted. A person could take a life and still mourn for it; the two truths could stand side by side.)

(If she knew Kaden still lived, though... what then?)

The indecision left Qebhet frozen for an agonising moment before, biting her lip, she opened she door wider. Turn nobody away.

"I'm Qebhet," she affirmed, still clinging to politeness in the face of her own unease. "Would you like to come in and talk? I can make us some tea."