Did we happen to meet the same Dimitri? If he forgives me, it is due to poor self worth. He would not forgive as easily if it was a friend of his I harmed in the same way.
But yes, it would be easier if people behaved in predictable ways and did not insist on seeing what isn't there.
I'm not saying poor self worth is a good reason, but I'm saying it's a reason.
[ don't make that face at him! ]
And yeah. You know, I feel the same way. One time, I had these two people I got pretty close to. Told 'em about a plan I had, and both of them offered me every possible solution so I wouldn't have to do it. Then when I did it anyway, because I'm the predictable one, they forgave me. I kept thinking the other shoe was going to drop because I didn't lean into the fact that both of them cared about me more than anything else. Because they insisted on seeing what was there.
... I think for people like you and I, it's harder to feel like people being good comes naturally. [ because, so so many people have been bad that you come to predict the cruelty. you come to understand the sword, not the caring hand. ] Even if its from their place of self-loathing.
[this does seem to sink in a bit, and she listens.]
I grew up among people who believed I could do no wrong. It went beyond loyalty; they saw me as something like a saint, a religious icon. My every action to them was sacred. And my mother and father, well - they got exactly what they bought, and that must have been a relief to them.
[...]
The only time my mother and father ever saw me as a daughter, what they saw was bad enough that they felt it necessary to take our lives. But they were so kind about it. It is the only memory of them I have where I felt that there was some part of them that loved me.
And then there was Gideon. I was obsessed with her, because she hated me. She alone of my House actually saw me, not the saint but the person, and she loathed me, correctly considered me a monstrous bully. Her hatred, my parents' momentary tenderness before their suicide - all of it was worth so much more than any false adulation.
But she forgave me eventually, and I never knew why, and because she came to love me she died horribly. And all I can think is that I ought to have settled for hatred, because love of me seems to be ruinous in most instances. But I do, selfishly, want to hoard it all the same.
[ aquila listens. they're silent, hands folded in front of themselves, taking in every single word.
(because every single word is so, so familiar, for so many reasons. to be an image, not a person. an icon. someone who can do no wrong. a title, a family name; to know duty and legacy like a shackle, to know a loveless life because it's better that way, or so you think.)
the pause stretches, broken only briefly as they absently reach under their sleeve and fiddle with something, the soft click of wooden beads hitting each other only obvious in the silence. and then, eventually; ]
...It might be selfish, but I understand the feeling. [ almost every part of it, actually, intimately. ] Maybe it's even more selfish to not give the others a choice of deciding how they want to feel, whether it's because you've put on a mask that they believe is your reality, or because you push them away because you don't want them to get hurt.
Everyone wants to be loved. [ another click of the wooden beads. ] ...And I don't think that the people who love you face ruin just because they came into your life, Harrow. I think there are people who find themselves better for it. I think that includes you.
[there's not so much to say. she hasn't had a breakthrough, exactly. she doesn't feel less torn up and conflicted about all of these feelings. but she's managed to put something about it into words and aquila understands what she means, and that at least seems to relax her.]
I hope so. I want this to be done, and to be free to make my own decisions again. I would want to save Mollymauk because I love him, but I also - I can't do it alone. I can't. I can't lose the people who let me be something other than the Reverend Daughter, because I am not capable of envisioning who that is without them.
[ for the two of them that's a fairly impressive milestone, actually.
they glance over at her again, and huff, softly, tone warming up a little, enough that it's probably obvious he's smiling a little. ]
I think that's a good thing. [ at not being able to envision only being her title, anymore.
... ] ...And, I'm not, either. [ they don't specify, whether they're unable to envision her, or maybe unable to envision someone else with a similar title, and who they are underneath it, but perhaps its both. ] It's like I said a few weeks ago. You've grown a lot, Harrow. All those steps forward you've taken are steps forward, even if we stumble.
I think you're your own worst critic. [ just putting that out there. ] But I think you have. Even when we attempt to grow a beautiful garden, weeds will always find their way in. You don't set the entire thing ablaze because of a brief shock of monkshood poking up between your peonies.
[ as if aquila knows anything about gardening. unfortunately he knows a lot about metaphors and flowers so here we are. ]
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But yes, it would be easier if people behaved in predictable ways and did not insist on seeing what isn't there.
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[ don't make that face at him! ]
And yeah. You know, I feel the same way. One time, I had these two people I got pretty close to. Told 'em about a plan I had, and both of them offered me every possible solution so I wouldn't have to do it. Then when I did it anyway, because I'm the predictable one, they forgave me. I kept thinking the other shoe was going to drop because I didn't lean into the fact that both of them cared about me more than anything else. Because they insisted on seeing what was there.
... I think for people like you and I, it's harder to feel like people being good comes naturally. [ because, so so many people have been bad that you come to predict the cruelty. you come to understand the sword, not the caring hand. ] Even if its from their place of self-loathing.
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I grew up among people who believed I could do no wrong. It went beyond loyalty; they saw me as something like a saint, a religious icon. My every action to them was sacred. And my mother and father, well - they got exactly what they bought, and that must have been a relief to them.
[...]
The only time my mother and father ever saw me as a daughter, what they saw was bad enough that they felt it necessary to take our lives. But they were so kind about it. It is the only memory of them I have where I felt that there was some part of them that loved me.
And then there was Gideon. I was obsessed with her, because she hated me. She alone of my House actually saw me, not the saint but the person, and she loathed me, correctly considered me a monstrous bully. Her hatred, my parents' momentary tenderness before their suicide - all of it was worth so much more than any false adulation.
But she forgave me eventually, and I never knew why, and because she came to love me she died horribly. And all I can think is that I ought to have settled for hatred, because love of me seems to be ruinous in most instances. But I do, selfishly, want to hoard it all the same.
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(because every single word is so, so familiar, for so many reasons. to be an image, not a person. an icon. someone who can do no wrong. a title, a family name; to know duty and legacy like a shackle, to know a loveless life because it's better that way, or so you think.)
the pause stretches, broken only briefly as they absently reach under their sleeve and fiddle with something, the soft click of wooden beads hitting each other only obvious in the silence. and then, eventually; ]
...It might be selfish, but I understand the feeling. [ almost every part of it, actually, intimately. ] Maybe it's even more selfish to not give the others a choice of deciding how they want to feel, whether it's because you've put on a mask that they believe is your reality, or because you push them away because you don't want them to get hurt.
Everyone wants to be loved. [ another click of the wooden beads. ] ...And I don't think that the people who love you face ruin just because they came into your life, Harrow. I think there are people who find themselves better for it. I think that includes you.
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I hope so. I want this to be done, and to be free to make my own decisions again. I would want to save Mollymauk because I love him, but I also - I can't do it alone. I can't. I can't lose the people who let me be something other than the Reverend Daughter, because I am not capable of envisioning who that is without them.
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they glance over at her again, and huff, softly, tone warming up a little, enough that it's probably obvious he's smiling a little. ]
I think that's a good thing. [ at not being able to envision only being her title, anymore.
... ] ...And, I'm not, either. [ they don't specify, whether they're unable to envision her, or maybe unable to envision someone else with a similar title, and who they are underneath it, but perhaps its both. ] It's like I said a few weeks ago. You've grown a lot, Harrow. All those steps forward you've taken are steps forward, even if we stumble.
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I don't know that I have. I don't know that I like this person.
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I think you're your own worst critic. [ just putting that out there. ] But I think you have. Even when we attempt to grow a beautiful garden, weeds will always find their way in. You don't set the entire thing ablaze because of a brief shock of monkshood poking up between your peonies.
[ as if aquila knows anything about gardening. unfortunately he knows a lot about metaphors and flowers so here we are. ]
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[so the metaphor doesn't work. well, except that she's not dumb and knows what they mean.]
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[
shut up aquila. they're clearly teasing though. ] It might do you some good to learn, though, all things considered.
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[ it's not about needing a classical knowledge of flowers but it is in fact about spite and being the best at things ]
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[ bad ]
Though, maybe your own metaphorical garden shouldn't be one of them.