he can't deny that it doesn't, and he can't deny that he deserves it. why else for? he betrayed a friend, his childhood friend, one of his many loves - maybe his only serious love - in pursuit of his own selfish desires, his own violent delights, he was not there when garreg mach fell to the empire and he was not there when he lost himself, slipping into the shadows as his friends tried to drag him back up to the surface, desperately so. too late. he sank. like so many other people in this war doing desperate things to live for desperate reasons, a prince can be driven to madness, too. does he feel something for it? all he can hear is dimitri screaming. all he can feel is his anger.
he feels like home.
he is home.
in the tower of dark winds. in the bottom of a well. winter in the mountains of gautier. a broken arm, a broken rib. he is home. he can't hate him for sending him where he belongs. he can't hate him for something that is, essentially, a more personal way of dealing with things, which he much prefers than areadbhar liberating his head from his shoulders.
he feels blood dripping down his nose and sylvain smiles. ]
That's ... it. [ gasping words in between his rage, sylvain lets his wrath pass through. ] There you ... are.
[ found you, he might've said, like they were children playing hide and seek again in their gilded youth. ] ... it's alright. I can ... handle it.
[ it's hard to see it with his bruises, but sylvain hawks out a sound that might've been a laugh. ] It's ... not ... your fault.
no subject
he can't deny that it doesn't, and he can't deny that he deserves it. why else for? he betrayed a friend, his childhood friend, one of his many loves - maybe his only serious love - in pursuit of his own selfish desires, his own violent delights, he was not there when garreg mach fell to the empire and he was not there when he lost himself, slipping into the shadows as his friends tried to drag him back up to the surface, desperately so. too late. he sank. like so many other people in this war doing desperate things to live for desperate reasons, a prince can be driven to madness, too. does he feel something for it? all he can hear is dimitri screaming. all he can feel is his anger.
he feels like home.
he is home.
in the tower of dark winds. in the bottom of a well. winter in the mountains of gautier. a broken arm, a broken rib. he is home. he can't hate him for sending him where he belongs. he can't hate him for something that is, essentially, a more personal way of dealing with things, which he much prefers than areadbhar liberating his head from his shoulders.
he feels blood dripping down his nose and sylvain smiles. ]
That's ... it. [ gasping words in between his rage, sylvain lets his wrath pass through. ] There you ... are.
[ found you, he might've said, like they were children playing hide and seek again in their gilded youth. ] ... it's alright. I can ... handle it.
[ it's hard to see it with his bruises, but sylvain hawks out a sound that might've been a laugh. ] It's ... not ... your fault.