[Did she think that? It is so tempting, because of course that sort of rage was far easier to understand, and far easier to accept. It was more and more the sort that she had fallen into after her unwanted arrival in Horos, unable to contain herself in a world so unlike the one she had known, where she lacked all of the societal conventions and shackles that had never allowed her to openly show her emotions. But... once, she had. Once, her rage had been ice and not flame, tightly controlled and hidden beneath a carefully crafted mask of servility because that had been what she'd had to do if she had any hope of surviving the fate she had been dealt with any hope of something that could pass as dignity.
There was a certain freedom in being allowed to rage that she relished in, simply because she had never been allowed to have it. But there were times, since those chains had been released... that she felt as if it were consuming her, rotting away her hearts and leaving only the burning anger behind. Yet, how is she supposed to rechain herself, when she had not been the one to understand the method to unlock them in the first place? It was the happenstance that had done it, her chaotic fate, not anything she had achieved herself, so-
Set presses, and Hayame flinches and half thrashes on instinct, because not hours before she had been held down, strapped down, straddled, and cut into, unable to free herself no matter how much she struggled. She cannot help but instinctively recall it, feel the fear again, the fury, the nausea, the shame. But even though those hands of his feel tainted by the very thing that had inflicted that pain on her... the touch is gentle and firm, not mocking as even the demon's "soft" touches had been. Those hands had fought with her... but they had also held her as she'd held him in the despair of curse and hauntings, they had taken her hand in whatever their friendship was, they had taught a woman who feared intimacy what pleasure was, and-
Hayame's arms wrap around Set and tighten, accidentally almost crushing if he were not a god, back legs kicking slightly along the stone floor to remind herself she was free to move, she wasn't helpless, she wasn't... and it would be a lie to pretend that it was not partly to keep him there, as if, should she let go for even an instant, he would return to her enemy's side or abandon her like those hellish whispers had made so easy to believe. Over his shoulder... her now "healed" (maimed) and mismatched eyes blaze with hatred, half blinded by tears. Set promises that he will take her cause into his attack, that she will see it, but... Her fingers tighten until her knuckles blanche, her jaw tightens until her back teeth threaten to crack, and her voice is dark and furious when it reverberates in the dark cave her humiliated soul had hidden in.]
I cannot let that be enough-
[Not if she wanted to rip back the pride the demon had stolen. She had practically begged Set to prove his "friendship" by feeling anger on her behalf, but she had not, could not, plead with someone to take revenge on her behalf. Even if it would be better for Meridian, even if she would be happy to see him gone... She did not relish the thing calling itself "Sebastian Michaelis" dying because of something else, at the hands of someone else. Even though Set will feel sick gratitude twisting in her guts over his offer, mollified in one way to imagine a strike at Zenith that would catch the demon up in the sweep of it...]
I want him to know it was me, Set.
[She doesn't want to just watch, with the sickly green eye that had been forced into her skull by taunting shadows. She wants to leave her mark, to do the work, to act, to strike.
... To have something to do, so that she does not collapse in on herself like a dying star, dimming the furiously bright glow of the asset named Hayame hanging in Set's war room.]
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There was a certain freedom in being allowed to rage that she relished in, simply because she had never been allowed to have it. But there were times, since those chains had been released... that she felt as if it were consuming her, rotting away her hearts and leaving only the burning anger behind. Yet, how is she supposed to rechain herself, when she had not been the one to understand the method to unlock them in the first place? It was the happenstance that had done it, her chaotic fate, not anything she had achieved herself, so-
Set presses, and Hayame flinches and half thrashes on instinct, because not hours before she had been held down, strapped down, straddled, and cut into, unable to free herself no matter how much she struggled. She cannot help but instinctively recall it, feel the fear again, the fury, the nausea, the shame. But even though those hands of his feel tainted by the very thing that had inflicted that pain on her... the touch is gentle and firm, not mocking as even the demon's "soft" touches had been. Those hands had fought with her... but they had also held her as she'd held him in the despair of curse and hauntings, they had taken her hand in whatever their friendship was, they had taught a woman who feared intimacy what pleasure was, and-
Hayame's arms wrap around Set and tighten, accidentally almost crushing if he were not a god, back legs kicking slightly along the stone floor to remind herself she was free to move, she wasn't helpless, she wasn't... and it would be a lie to pretend that it was not partly to keep him there, as if, should she let go for even an instant, he would return to her enemy's side or abandon her like those hellish whispers had made so easy to believe. Over his shoulder... her now "healed" (maimed) and mismatched eyes blaze with hatred, half blinded by tears. Set promises that he will take her cause into his attack, that she will see it, but... Her fingers tighten until her knuckles blanche, her jaw tightens until her back teeth threaten to crack, and her voice is dark and furious when it reverberates in the dark cave her humiliated soul had hidden in.]
I cannot let that be enough-
[Not if she wanted to rip back the pride the demon had stolen. She had practically begged Set to prove his "friendship" by feeling anger on her behalf, but she had not, could not, plead with someone to take revenge on her behalf. Even if it would be better for Meridian, even if she would be happy to see him gone... She did not relish the thing calling itself "Sebastian Michaelis" dying because of something else, at the hands of someone else. Even though Set will feel sick gratitude twisting in her guts over his offer, mollified in one way to imagine a strike at Zenith that would catch the demon up in the sweep of it...]
I want him to know it was me, Set.
[She doesn't want to just watch, with the sickly green eye that had been forced into her skull by taunting shadows. She wants to leave her mark, to do the work, to act, to strike.
... To have something to do, so that she does not collapse in on herself like a dying star, dimming the furiously bright glow of the asset named Hayame hanging in Set's war room.]