You're so cold
but you feel alive
Breathing in a deep, long lungful of air, Maea willed her simmering temper to ease. It did not help much, but Amun was at least not taking the bait. He remained as calm as ever, even seemed a touch amused by her tirade. Perhaps it was better than getting into a yelling contest, but Maea confessed to herself that it might have felt good to blow off some steam too. This little outburst was just a peaking of the lid, defusing the worst while the rest kept boiling beneath.
"It's not." She answered his singular question with a flat tone, bone-deep weariness lining her face where there should be none, not for many years. "Do you think I'm proud of it? That I want to be afraid? Yet here we are. We talk, but I'm still not convinced you're not suddenly going to do something terrifying. I keep waiting for... something, I don't even know what, and I hate that about myself too."
Restless fingers reached up to bother the braid, trying to push loose strands back into the folds without much success. In the end, she just undid it and combed it through with damp fingers, then wove one section over the other into a new braid. It fell back to rest between her shoulderblades with a quiet thump, and Maea kept avoiding Amun's gaze.
"I could blame the stories. The tales they told to scare us children into obedience. I could blame the Voice... but in the end it's on me. Isn't it enough that I admit as much?"
"It's not." She answered his singular question with a flat tone, bone-deep weariness lining her face where there should be none, not for many years. "Do you think I'm proud of it? That I want to be afraid? Yet here we are. We talk, but I'm still not convinced you're not suddenly going to do something terrifying. I keep waiting for... something, I don't even know what, and I hate that about myself too."
Restless fingers reached up to bother the braid, trying to push loose strands back into the folds without much success. In the end, she just undid it and combed it through with damp fingers, then wove one section over the other into a new braid. It fell back to rest between her shoulderblades with a quiet thump, and Maea kept avoiding Amun's gaze.
"I could blame the stories. The tales they told to scare us children into obedience. I could blame the Voice... but in the end it's on me. Isn't it enough that I admit as much?"
lay your hands on me
one last time
MAEA
