Re: Wandering: Hannah/Fiach
She noticed when his hands remained over there, away, but it was a subconscious type of noticing, something noted and physically reacted to, but not really something she was aware of. But she was relaxed again, and maybe it was odd to stand in the middle of a room and talk to strangers about reality and dying, but here they were, and she knew he could find someone happier to talk to. "I'm not always this morose," she promised him, and she wasn't. She liked to live in the sunshine, to dance in moonglow and feel joy in her marrow. But that wasn't where she was right now, and she was sorry for it. "I think there has to be bad to have good, and I think tarnish can be lovely, and I think scars tell stories of living. They're like book spines, and you can maybe assume things from the cover, but they aren't always true. But the happy moments, I want those to be the ones that linger and stay." And a lot of the times, they weren't, and for some people more than for others.
"I wish there was a world where no one was denied, as long as the things they wanted didn't hurt anyone else." She knew it wasn't realistic, and it wasn't even naivete, because she knew just how unrealistic it was. But she wanted it all the same, and she said it, despite the fact that everyone always informed her the world wasn't like that. No one knew better than her how the world was, but she always listened just the same.
"I died years and years ago. When did I know? I found out three years ago," she told him. She said it was a smile, a teasing thing that said she spoke inanities that weren't true, because the easiest way to hide truth was in madness, and people didn't even question anymore. Of course she hadn't died, and of course she wasn't dead, and she tipped her head again, all curious bird. "When did you die?" she asked him.