She'd done her best, hadn't she? She'd been a good wife, hadn't she? Done all she could?
But it was not enough.
He still got this way, all for the sake of a moment, a moment well over three hundred years ago.
She couldn't help the distance in her eyes. She couldn't help that voice in her depths that had been silenced, its words stolen, that sometimes simply screamed in frustration, as these Romans undid everything, and she was trapped here to watch.
She couldn't help that she was not what she was supposed to be.
Nonetheless, she entered his study, appearing in the doorway and speaking with deceptive softness.
His quill jumped as he did at her voice, leaving a black, ugly mark through the rest of the page. In disgust, he tore it off the table and commended it to the fire.
Without turning to her, he set his quill aside for the moment, smoothing another parchment in front of him.
"Yes."
He finally looked over his shoulder to her. She was lovely, like ice was lovely when it covered living things during the winter.
Nyx ran her hands through her hair, which, of course, fell immediately back into its long loose curls, and bound itself back up again.
She took a breath.
He was burning things. Things he had written. She did not approve of this. It had troubled her deeply at first, but now, she only resented it. More distance. More hateful silence.
Erebos turned back to the desk. He had tired of pointless questions, pointless talk. He had given up trying to press out of her what it was that she truly wanted. The last time they talked, she finally admitted that she felt suffocated. That she needed to dance. That she needed to be independent. He had said nothing. He had only stood and walked away. They had not spoken since.
Comments 18
She'd done her best, hadn't she? She'd been a good wife, hadn't she? Done all she could?
But it was not enough.
He still got this way, all for the sake of a moment, a moment well over three hundred years ago.
She couldn't help the distance in her eyes. She couldn't help that voice in her depths that had been silenced, its words stolen, that sometimes simply screamed in frustration, as these Romans undid everything, and she was trapped here to watch.
She couldn't help that she was not what she was supposed to be.
Nonetheless, she entered his study, appearing in the doorway and speaking with deceptive softness.
"Ere."
Reply
Without turning to her, he set his quill aside for the moment, smoothing another parchment in front of him.
"Yes."
He finally looked over his shoulder to her. She was lovely, like ice was lovely when it covered living things during the winter.
Reply
She took a breath.
He was burning things. Things he had written. She did not approve of this. It had troubled her deeply at first, but now, she only resented it. More distance. More hateful silence.
It had to end eventually, didn't it?
But not today.
Finally, she spoke again.
"What troubles you, Husband?"
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"I have considered what you told me."
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