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[longwillows]

reach out?

the smell of fresh water in dry desert air. the feeling of cautious curiosity. a place as dangerous as it is resplendent.

c

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[pointedlook]

[ Apply enough pressure and anyone would crack. That'd been one of the biggest lessons he'd walked away with, during the dreamshare project. And he'd seen it, day in and day out. Had sometimes been the one tightening the vice. Other days, he'd been on the receiving end, trying to hold it together by sheer force of will through whatever means they decided to put him through.

Kalmiya, he'd gathered, is made of a similar tempered steel. Her whimsy masked a kind of self-conviction that surprises people. Sleep had taken it and snapped it over her knee, left her to pick up the broken pieces. He's felt the empty ache of it; the utter silence where he'd heard the quiet rustle of her thoughts, before. As she collapses inwards, to cling to Sharon and allow herself to be held up by borrowed strength, he hears the inner howl of wind, the driving pound of rain. It's muted, as if he's underwater, but the deluge fills in the gaping abyss Sleep left behind. Relief pours over him and he gives Kalmiya a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

There are a lot of things he could say, yet none of them suit as well as the truth Sharon's voiced: she's not alone. ]

CW: religious trauma, cult shit

[longwillows]

[At the opposite end of each freshly rewoven bond, beneath the immediate warmth of reassurance, is anger. Searing hot from Sharon and frigid from Arthur—both familiar, so familiar by now, but overwhelming in tandem with one another, tugging at opposite ends of Kalmiya's own rage. At its very foundation, the uncontrollable anxiety of a flame flaring too big and hot for its frail container, the desperate frustration of a child who has never been able to understand what they did wrong. At the peak, the crystallization of vapors into a fury both righteous and distant, divine in its judgment, absolute in its conviction.

But the core of it has gone dark, the holy spark at the heart of her being snuffed by the oppressive nature of this city. The edges of the emptiness left behind, vacant its Celestial scourge, smolder. It intersects with the wound that Sleep has left within her, two voids meeting to yawn ever wider as one; so much to be angry about, and yet the burning edges never catch.

Her anger has never been without consequence. She has shaped her entire understanding and expression of it around that simple fact. She doesn't know what to do with it in its current form, gutted of the power she's had to control her entire life; managing her innate capability for destruction had always been the north of her compass. For better or worse, she has always been led by her Celestial blood.

It's just one more missing tether. One more piece that Sleep has taken. Acting without it has been freeing, in its own way, and yet—

You're not alone.

Still, there are consequences. Still, she has managed to wound herself and others by daring to feel.

It slips in a whisper from her mouth before she can stop it, another extension of the uncontrolled trembling of her body.] I'm sorry.

[I'm sorry, echoes a much younger voice over the thrashing winds of the storm; a prayer for forgiveness ridden with tears and shame, the sensation of a clammy forehead pressed prostrate to a cool stone floor, the lingering all-over burn of skin that's gotten too much sun. I didn't mean to hurt anyone.]

[merged]

[ An apology slips from Kalmiya's mouth, and Sharon is blindsided by how familiar it feels, like someone pressing on an old bruise, dragging her back into a childhood steeped with shame. It clashes hard against the Kalmiya she knows—the woman who radiates chaotic sunlight and wonder, impossible to overlook or quiet.

And Sleep tried to take that. Tried to grind it down—to grind Kal down.

All Sharon can manage is a faint shake of her head, rejecting the apology before it fully settles, pulling back just enough to look the older woman in her silver eyes. She can't say the words out loud, but the message hums through the tether binding them: you have nothing to be sorry for. Kalmiya didn't harm Sharon. She didn't harm Arthur. That blame rests upon a being convinced she can win by breaking them apart, by inflicting pain, by turning them into islands through fear and loneliness. ]

[pointedlook]

[ Shame shudders and drips from her lips, joining the pounding downpour of the storm whipping within. It's reflexive, a habit fought like a war, but just as easy to fall back on; a smoker picking up cigarettes again. The cherry red tip of the burning ash catches on Sharon, unearthing the familiar scorch marks.

Somewhere, he feels the flinty anger over the people that left those scars on them both. But, he can't erase the past, none of them can. All they can do is continue to move forward, one foot in front of the other. So he shoves the roil of fury aside–it doesn't have a place in this scene–and despite their lacking connection, he follows the bits and pieces of Kalmiya he knows like a string through a maze. ]

No apologizing; I'd do this all over again, even knowing the outcome. [ What's a little psychic pain between friends? ] You took a mace to a deity and she decided she didn't like it. I think you might've shaken her a bit. Gods or whatever don't enjoy being reminded they can bruise.

[longwillows]

[Though Sharon tries to meet her gaze, Kalmiya can only bear to hold eye contact for a fraction of a second before her head bows; flinching away instinctively from being so seen, and still silent outside of the violent hitch of her breathing. The wash of shame seeping from her leaves behind a concentrate of something baser, potent dregs of a fear she may never truly shake. Panic, rage, anguish—none were without consequence. They did not always precede an eruption of her holy light. But they always, always meant being left alone.

She doesn't say it again, but still the Murmur cradles the distant sound of the young Savior of Sanctuary, praying to be free of a weight she couldn't entirely understand: I'm sorry.

Tightly she clutches to Sharon's coat, claw tips snagging the heavy winter fabric. Even tighter is her grasp on their tethers, a castaway seeking a lifeline in a maelstrom. Cords braided from their words—the insistence that she's not alone, and she won't be alone, made manifest in the weak tendrils of warmth that anchor her to each of them.

She holds, and holds, and holds. Ash and ozone mingle at the back of her nose. It takes a long moment to find her voice again, her throat squeezed shut as her body braces for a punishment that isn't coming. It's a thin sound, drawn by the tension she can't let go of as she weeps.] I wasn't...even aiming for her. I just wanted to help him...

[Spiteful as Kalmiya can be, her defiance of Sleep was nothing so petty. Something deep, something righteous brought her up onto that pedestal; she's no big damn hero, but she can't stand to see someone emptied of their very self like that.]

[merged]

[ A distant flare of fury ripples along Arthur's end of the tether, a dangerous spark that he crushes down almost immediately. Like sand thrown over a beach fire just before dawn. The heat is still there beneath the surface, glowing, capable of roaring back to life with the right provocation, but he keeps it buried. He stays focused, handling the situation like a goddamn professional.

When Kalmiya cannot meet her gaze, Sharon glances to Arthur instead, searching, uncertain. All she wants is to make this better, and there's no way to do that. No magic words to fix it. No gesture that'll undo what's been done. All she can offer is her presence. To stay. To be here. To remind Kalmiya that she is not alone. And that feels so painfully useless.

Kalmiya's grip tightens on the tether, and Sharon gently gathers it, cradling it the same way she had wrapped her arms around Kalmiya moments before. She is careful with it, protective of the newly reforged thread between them. As futile as simply being here feels, it is clearly what Kalmiya needs. She needs them. She needs the connection. She needs to be reminded, over and over, that she is not alone. Sharon reaches up and brushes a tear from Kalmiya's cheek, never urging her to look up, offering instead a whisper along the tether that it's okay.

The tears, the shame. Even the pain. It's okay. ]

Sounds like it might be the same thing in her eyes. [ The realization settles quickly, turning into fresh purpose—an adjustment to a goal on her list. ] You didn't do anything wrong. It just means we'll have to be smarter about how we help him from here on out.