[A small thing that she has never once admitted before any of the others. A thing she has to tell herself over and over; after Ul'dah, after Haurchefant, of Papalymo and all the Crystal Braves, every loss cutting deeper and yet. And yet. Insecurities piling up until it stifled. Choked her dreams at night. Perhaps it was the loss of the surety of her Wood's voice. A soothing balm, a sense of rightness with the world, of belonging to something ancient and far more vast than herself. Even should she be allowed once more to set foot beneath her own Wood's sacred trees, she would not hear her soft reassurances. No, that was long lost to her now, and in Fanow she had felt such an ache for it that it had distracted her from the pain of laying low the Lightwarden and siphoning its aether.]
Seems a bit mad when I speak of it. Yet perhaps I am a glutton for punishment, as it has never stopped me from pushing forward. When I saw you and your brother fast asleep on my journey to Eorzea's fair lands so long ago, never had I expected it would lead us here.
[She had wondered if they'd ever remembered that fateful day. She'd been a little ill from the imbalance of aether, and Hydaelyn had taken that moment to reach out and pluck her from her somnolence, all the while the twins had been dozing just a stone's toss away. Between that and Alphinaud's shockingly snide remarks when she'd listened to the leaders of the alliance expound upon all they would defend their peoples from, not once had Mykha expected what would come. She might be young, but looking back now was a...very odd feeling.]
I know I will walk more steadily. If...hmmm.
[ The words catch in her mouth for a moment, and she bows her head, brow furrowing as her ears twitch. She stays like that for a moment, then speaks again, softly.]
Mayhaps if all the Lightwardens are slain, I can only hope we might cure them. I pray we will, for all their sakes.
[Because she could not bear to think of that small boy with a face like plaster and not want to weep. It was beyond cruelty. The patients who lost their voices, yet she could see the fear and suffering in their eyes clear as day. The ones whose hands were still yet warm, but the wretched whiteness was already showing in their knuckles, stealing their strength. She could not bear to see them and know they would meet an end like Tesleen were it not for the gentle blessings of the caretakers at the Inn. The burden of knowing, and that Alisae had fought to end their suffering for so long.
So she gazes up at the stars instead, hoping the chill of night holds answers in its vastness.]
I do not know what I would do if slaying the Lightwardens does not lift their burdens from them.
no subject
[A small thing that she has never once admitted before any of the others. A thing she has to tell herself over and over; after Ul'dah, after Haurchefant, of Papalymo and all the Crystal Braves, every loss cutting deeper and yet. And yet. Insecurities piling up until it stifled. Choked her dreams at night. Perhaps it was the loss of the surety of her Wood's voice. A soothing balm, a sense of rightness with the world, of belonging to something ancient and far more vast than herself. Even should she be allowed once more to set foot beneath her own Wood's sacred trees, she would not hear her soft reassurances. No, that was long lost to her now, and in Fanow she had felt such an ache for it that it had distracted her from the pain of laying low the Lightwarden and siphoning its aether.]
Seems a bit mad when I speak of it. Yet perhaps I am a glutton for punishment, as it has never stopped me from pushing forward. When I saw you and your brother fast asleep on my journey to Eorzea's fair lands so long ago, never had I expected it would lead us here.
[She had wondered if they'd ever remembered that fateful day. She'd been a little ill from the imbalance of aether, and Hydaelyn had taken that moment to reach out and pluck her from her somnolence, all the while the twins had been dozing just a stone's toss away. Between that and Alphinaud's shockingly snide remarks when she'd listened to the leaders of the alliance expound upon all they would defend their peoples from, not once had Mykha expected what would come. She might be young, but looking back now was a...very odd feeling.]
I know I will walk more steadily. If...hmmm.
[ The words catch in her mouth for a moment, and she bows her head, brow furrowing as her ears twitch. She stays like that for a moment, then speaks again, softly.]
Mayhaps if all the Lightwardens are slain, I can only hope we might cure them. I pray we will, for all their sakes.
[Because she could not bear to think of that small boy with a face like plaster and not want to weep. It was beyond cruelty. The patients who lost their voices, yet she could see the fear and suffering in their eyes clear as day. The ones whose hands were still yet warm, but the wretched whiteness was already showing in their knuckles, stealing their strength. She could not bear to see them and know they would meet an end like Tesleen were it not for the gentle blessings of the caretakers at the Inn. The burden of knowing, and that Alisae had fought to end their suffering for so long.
So she gazes up at the stars instead, hoping the chill of night holds answers in its vastness.]
I do not know what I would do if slaying the Lightwardens does not lift their burdens from them.