Athena tries to stop him just a little too late, pale fingers gliding off of the surface of the coins just as she speaks. He seizes them in his hand as the memories take over and flood him. He's unable to help himself, stumbling back the moment he sees Luda's beautiful, haunting face. It's the most emotion he's shown he's had since his arrival, even more than when he'd gripped Athena's arm far too tightly while testing their limits.
The Darkling has lived for so long but he still remembers her face. He still remembers how she looked bleeding out on the forest floor, how he had picked up her fading self and brought her somewhere safe. How the only thing on his mind had been 'help her' and 'hurt them.' How Luda didn't make it because there were no Healers around. His mother had reminded him of the truth when Luda passed, the catalyst for a forbidden plan.
They die because they always do.
And now he's relived it. At some point he'd pressed his back against a wall, leaning heavily as he pants, unfocused, rage and grief surging through him. The Darkling's eyes are glassy as he grunts, dropping the coin he'd been holding onto with a white knuckled grip. He's shaking, truly rattled.
It takes him a few seconds. One hand had been splayed behind him, pressing against the cool surface of the dirty wall, so he starts with that. He wills himself to stand up straight, forces his breathing through his nose, narrows his eyes as he wills himself to calm down. He stitches himself together with relative ease, no more than a few seconds from start to finish, and when he exhales, his jaw is just a little too tight, eyes still glassy. There's a glint in his gaze, too: remnants of what he's seen are still lingering, despite how quickly he'd forced it out of his appearance.
He despises this place. He despises his lack of power, his lack of control. He despises that someone has seen a part of his life he has told no one, felt a part of him that had started everything. It's what shaped him to be the Grisha he is this day, creating the Fold. Leading an army once more.
Eventually, he speaks.
"Who else has seen this?" There's a chill to his voice, cold, calculating, though it's got a gravelly tone to it. He's spent too much on emotions. The Darkling has been around for a very, very long time. That memory has been in his mind for just as long.
Why, then, did it feel so real, like he was there?
no subject
The Darkling has lived for so long but he still remembers her face. He still remembers how she looked bleeding out on the forest floor, how he had picked up her fading self and brought her somewhere safe. How the only thing on his mind had been 'help her' and 'hurt them.' How Luda didn't make it because there were no Healers around. His mother had reminded him of the truth when Luda passed, the catalyst for a forbidden plan.
They die because they always do.
And now he's relived it. At some point he'd pressed his back against a wall, leaning heavily as he pants, unfocused, rage and grief surging through him. The Darkling's eyes are glassy as he grunts, dropping the coin he'd been holding onto with a white knuckled grip. He's shaking, truly rattled.
It takes him a few seconds. One hand had been splayed behind him, pressing against the cool surface of the dirty wall, so he starts with that. He wills himself to stand up straight, forces his breathing through his nose, narrows his eyes as he wills himself to calm down. He stitches himself together with relative ease, no more than a few seconds from start to finish, and when he exhales, his jaw is just a little too tight, eyes still glassy. There's a glint in his gaze, too: remnants of what he's seen are still lingering, despite how quickly he'd forced it out of his appearance.
He despises this place. He despises his lack of power, his lack of control. He despises that someone has seen a part of his life he has told no one, felt a part of him that had started everything. It's what shaped him to be the Grisha he is this day, creating the Fold. Leading an army once more.
Eventually, he speaks.
"Who else has seen this?" There's a chill to his voice, cold, calculating, though it's got a gravelly tone to it. He's spent too much on emotions. The Darkling has been around for a very, very long time. That memory has been in his mind for just as long.
Why, then, did it feel so real, like he was there?