[ Oh. So apparently that answers his questions about how G'raha is getting in and out of his room with the door barricaded. Soon enough, there's a knock on G'raha's window. ]
[ And Marcel is going to be hearing a lot of shuffling. Maybe a crash or two with G’raha gasping and uh. Trying to restack and rearrange, as if he has forgotten that someone waits at his window.
But then the sound of scrambling. Oh right! Marcel! The latches on the window are undone and then he’s sticking out his head. ]
[ He waits. And watches, through the window, paying attention to the way G'raha moves, trying to determine if he's hurt. He hasn't come to a conclusion by the time that the window opens, which means he needs to investigate.
And so, wordlessly, he reaches in and places his hand on the miqo'te's sides. And if they seem uninjured, he's going to lift G'raha up. Carefully, at first, ready to put him down if he seems pained by it. ]
[ Oh. Marcel is silent. A silent Marcel is usually not a Bad Thing but with that expression? It means that he is going to do something. And G’raha isn’t at all surprised when hands fall at his sides. Still, there is incertainty here. ]
Marcel?
[ Ah, there it is. He’s being hefted out of the room through the window. He yelps, ears perking upright and red splashing across his face. ]
[ Thankfully, the yelp comes before he's dragged poor G'raha out through the window. Or, worse, scooped his legs up so they can clear the window frame, because it would probably not be improving the situation if he was princess carrying anyone. He puts the miqo'te down, frowning in concern, clearly interpreting the noise as one of pain rather than embarassment or surprise. ]
Ah. You are hurt.
[ No apology. He just nods, then starts climbing in through the window. If he can't carry G'raha out of the window without hurting him, he'll just go in. ]
[ Good. Because he might have started lightly slapping at a shoulder out of panic more than anything else. So embarrassing! He is thankfully not pulled through. So he can recover. A tail swished about wildly behind him, fluffed and puffed out. ]
I-I said I was!
[ But then he’s flouncing to get away from the window with a SLIGHT limp. All so that Marcel can come inside. …And see the mess that is G’raha’s ‘library.’
[ The good news: he isn't judging the library at all. He is not a man with a good frame of reference for what a normal room is meant to look like. This is- probably on the higher end of an appropriate amount of books to possess. ]
You said you were recovered.
[ The bad news: he's still judging not telling him the truth about injuries. He climbs through the window with a practiced ease that suggests he thinks this is a normal way to enter a building.
But ah. G'raha is angry. Which makes sense. He probably shouldn't have tried to pick him up while he was injured. So he doesn't move to touch him again. ]
I said I was fine. Which I am. I have treated my injuries and all that remains is time to allow them to heal.
[ Defensive and still flustered, even if he is’t stuttering. But he’s said injuries. Meaning more than one. Later, he will feel bad for allowing Marcel to believe that he’s upset - for ever giving off an air that he is. G’raha isn’t, in truth. ]
[ He says it like he thinks it's a magic spell. Softly and clearly, making sure to get every syllable correct. Tone utterly unreadable before he falls quiet and still. Unusually so, even for him. ]
[ Firstly, he pushes back some of his hair. There is a gash above his brow, bandaged with gauze and in a way that his hair would be able to hide it sufficiently.
[ He reaches out to touch the gauze, lightly and carefully, keeping to the edges of it to be certain not to touch the cut itself. Good. The gauze is clean and dry. Nothing to worry about overmuch.
Satisfied that the cut is, in fact, being cared for properly, he nods. ]
[ He draws his finger slowly down the side of G'raha's face as he withdraws. And it does make a difference to the way he holds himself, knowing that the miqo'te is well cared for. His shoulders sink a little. Relax.
[ He has seen these doors open many times, now, in his visits to the Ocular. It should have ceased to be wondrous. The opposite is true. The first time he saw them open, they were merely a set of obstacles removed. The investigation of the tower was only a task he had been given, and the tower itself merely a place that was not the Wood, indistinguishable from any other place that was not the Wood. The doors differed from an inconvenient river or particularly stubborn large animal only in the method needed to overcome them. None of it part of a story.
But things have changed in recent moons. Carefully, tentatively, he has tried to allow things to have significance. To notice details. At first, the best he might have managed was that the doors are large. Then, maybe, large and golden. It's slow, difficult progress. But bit by bit he's been teaching himself the language of story. Reclaiming a way of seeing the world that had been stolen from him.
When they last spoke, he might have told the G'raha inside the tower that there had been an obstacle, and now it is overcome. Now, he can tell him about the sound that the doors make as they slowly open, the way that the doors of the tower in the Crystarium open so much more smoothly without metal grinding against stone and the uncomfortable weight of stagnant aether on the air.
But perhaps G'raha will not want to hear about doors. They have all had quite enough of them. Perhaps all that matters is that they were in the way and now they are not.
He holds the soul vessel tighter to his chest as he enters the Tower. It groans to life around him, aether starting to flow through the crystal slowly and achingly, like blood through a deadened limb. He should find G'raha. He will be waking soon, too, and he would rather that he not do so to find himself alone. ]
[ Yet it isn't the Crystal Tower of the Crystarium that Marcel finds himself walking into. It isn't a well maintained Tower of a hundred years and more, but one that had been opened briefly before sealed tightly shut. This Tower had been awakened and had only started to shake off the numbness that comes with a stemmed flow of blood to any extremity. Then it had been cut off again in the blink of an eye.
It almost yawns. Creaks and groans resonate throughout the Tower. Things begin to come back to life, more quickly this time due to the fact that the Tower's rest had been a shorter amount of time than before. Yet it had been some years and there is little to be done about the ambient aether and the way it likely messes with the Viera's senses. As the Crystal Tower begins its processes and moves the aether around, it should level out.
There will be no defenses active along the path that Marcel treads. Even if there were, none would think to stop him. The crystal he bears, that container holding a vital essence of another, is much like a badge of authority around here. Marcel could go where he wishes. Do what he likes. Yet it is with a single-minded determination that seems to carry him onward. It takes him up spiral ramps and teleports, much like it had the first time he had been here. The first time he might not recall in full detail.
G'raha will be found right where the Exarch had parted from Marcel. The Tower hasn't seen fit to wake him just yet. No doubt he will be the very last thing that should. Yet he is there, bracers discarded and tossed off to the side and upon that overly large thrown. It is up there that he sleeps, curled up much like the felines that Miqo'te so do resemble. He is curled into himself, as if to make his body - his form - as small as possible.
One might wonder what he had thought before being pulled under. ]
[ As he grows closer and closer, he becomes more and more certain where the tower is guiding him. The only place it could be guiding him.
His mind tries to tell him he will see all kinds of things, once he steps past the doors of the throne room. The yawning mouth of the void, calling for a pact to be fulfilled. An exhausted scholar refusing to meet his eyes, saying there is still work to be done. A desperate man lashing out in grief. Something small and afraid and exhausted, murmuring apologies to lifeless stones. A man of silent glass. His mind tries to tell him that he will see all of this, and he knows full well that it is lying. He will see the throne room, as he has seen it so many times before. And he will see G'raha Tia.
Even if he never quite expected him to look so small.
He places the soul vessel inside one of the inner pockets of his cloak, safely away from G'raha until he can make the decision for himself. Then clambers up onto the throne. It's massive. Even with G'raha sleeping there, there's room for him to sit next to him.
He would have looked different, when this G'raha last saw him. less scars. The skin of his right arm still mostly smooth instead of a gnarled branch of burns. Countless new scrapes, some small and some massive slices of flesh cut away from his throat. A pale, sickly glow visible in his chest through the cloth of his shirt. Perhaps someone else should have come here. Someone who had changed less, Biggs or Wedge or Rammbroes or Krile.
But he is the one who is here. And it is important that G'raha Tia not wake up alone. And so he sets his burned grey hand upon G'raha's smaller, softer one. And he waits. ]
[ Of course he cannot know that Marcel is next to him. There is no awareness that the Viera is holding his hand. It might end up being quite the surprise, given this G'raha's thoughts regarding the Warrior of Light's opinion of him. Who would have thought that he would have been so valued for Marcel to come and fetch him personally.
Yet the aether in the Tower moves. Systems begin to restore themselves. Processes begin anew. The lights steadily grow brighter and brighter and things begin to stabilize. Marcel will start to feel more at ease as the aether starts to finally flow as it should and even out.
That's when G'raha finally begins to stir. It starts with a gasp, a yawn. One of his ears flick and the tip of his tail twitches. G'raha begins to stretch out. Still groggy and in the works of actually waking up. Of coming into awareness. ]
[ The aether finally starts to move as it should, the noise of it shifting from something choked and painful to something almost musical. A ringing, like a finger running along glass. It's difficult, even now, to tell the difference between aether and his senses.
The clearing of the aether allows him to think, and he finds that he would rather not. He does not want to wonder what if he doesn't wake up. By the time that G'raha stirs his lungs are burning from holding his breath in anticipation, and the sigh of relief that follows is all the louder for it. He watches his movements with the sort of reverence one might usually reserve for the night sky after a century of daylight. ]
You. Are awake. [ He says it softly. Then goes quiet again. Thoughtful. Trying to find the correct word for this. ] Good.
[ His body aches. Lungs burn. It feels like it's been forever since he's breathed properly or even moved. Likely because it's been years. It's been years and yet G'raha doesn't feel as though it's really been long enough. He tries to move his legs, his tail. Even his ears. They are stiff even as he tries to sit properly.
As he tries to look around the room and make sense of what it is that he is seeing. Even though his eyes fall upon Marcel, they aren't really looking at him. Not quite yet. Seeing that he is there, but not really seeing him. ]
[ He should say something. This is the part where he says something. And he doesn’t know what he should say, but it should be something. ]
Hello. My name is Marcel Aan Bestia. It is good to meet you. Thank you.
[ It’s soft and earnest and not entirely the correct way to wake someone. G’raha knows his name. Even if he hasn’t heard it from Marcel himself. So he frowns. Tries again. If he can’t say the correct thing, he will just say all the things until one of them is correct. He tightens his hold on G’raha’s hand, leaning in close. ]
People keep making dolls that look like you. It is very strange. I do not understand why anyone would want these things.
[‘Show him your wind-up G’raha Tia’ is also not correct. ]
Krile is awake. She has missed you. Many people have missed you. [ And then, because he finally realises what he needs to say. ] I have missed you.
[ Ironically, the best response might have been to not respond at all. The way that Marcel seems to rattle off all of this information, all of those words spoken with little to no pausing for G'raha to process them proper, only seems to confuse him more. It makes his head spin as he tries to wake up fully and get a sense of himself.
Marcel. Dolls? Unwanted dolls... And Krile? Krile. She is not -
Missed. People have missed him. People have missed him. Marcel has missed him. Marcel, who, as he recalls, did not seem to care whether or not G'raha had really been around. But gods! Krile. Krile is awake? She survived? Does that mean -
Wait. Wait wait wait. He's awake. He is awake and that is not meant to be! How had he woken up? How had Marcel managed to get in? There are so many thoughts racing now. Thoughts and questions that do not have apparent answers. ]
H-how... W-when?
[ How are you here Marcel? When is this? How long has it been? G'raha licks his lips, eyes squinting and trying to focus, noticing that his hand is being held by the Viera's. Focusing on that point of contact like it is the only thing on the star that is grounding him. ]
[ Words only stop falling out of him - greetings and thanks and apologies and dolls and every other thing that comes to mind - when G'raha speaks in turn. He goes silent at that, ear tilted to best listen, eyes wide with apprehension. This is what it looks like when people wake. He knows that. This is normal. This is good. And yet ha can't help but worry.
Questions. Words that exist at the beginnings of questions, at least. He follows G'raha's gaze down to their joined hands, then looks back to his face. It is strange, now. To see skin there, whole, without crystal clawing its way into it.
Why. That was the last question. And so he answers it. ]
I have missed you because you have been here.
[ Possibly not the answer G'raha was looking for. ]
[ Perhaps, back then, he should have figured out that it's not that Marcel doesn't wish to speak. It's just that he hadn't known how to. That the Viera had been more of a thing than a person upon their initial counter. And yet the stoicism had very much led G'raha to believe that he had been just an annoyance to the Warrior. Hence his bafflement at Marcel claiming that he, G'raha Tia, had been missed.
Which is. Overwhelming. G'raha hadn't thought that there would really be anyone that would miss him. At least not enough to break into the Tower - and Marcel must have done that. How else could he be here right now? But oh Krile is outside and - ]
You... You woke me. Because you missed me?
[ Not that it answers any of the other questions at all, but. This is the one that Marcel had chosen to answer. So it must be the most important? ]
[ And, unfortunately, he doesn't feel like that needs any qualification at all. So the single word just hangs there for a long moment on the aether-saturated air.
He lets go of G'raha's hand after a moment. Rearranges himself until he is sitting more comfortably, taking a moment to smooth out his skirts. Settling in to speak for longer, rather than following his initial plans to just pick G'raha up and remove him from the tower.
It is strange, speaking with him like this. He seems so much more alive than the Exarch. Yet so much more fragile.
He reaches out his hand again, setting it against the crystal of the throne next to G'raha's. ]
There are. Many things, to explain. But this is- the most important of these things. That I would like you to not be here. And to be where I am, instead.
[ And so it does. That single word just throws G'raha for a bit of a loop. Besides the fact that he is just waking up after an extended rest - and that's putting it lightly - and getting his brain to actually process information? This is only prolonging the process as Marcel isn't providing any explanation whatsoever. There's a major disconnect here and G'raha feels as though he might be missing some critical information.
Marcel releases his hand and the Miqo'te feels adrift once more. But then he is trying to move as well. As Marcel shifts and adjusts his position, G'raha winces. His muscles feel stiff. So time has passed. It's taking an effort to sit himself up further on the throne to look at Marcel proper in return. ]
Even. [ Talking even takes energy he's not sure he has at the moment. ] Even if that is the case...
[ Because he finds it hard to believe that however this had all been achieved that it had been because G'raha Tia had been desired. Missed. That people would go through all of this simply for him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
followup to tfln
Date: 2022-07-30 02:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 05:43 pm (UTC)But then the sound of scrambling. Oh right! Marcel! The latches on the window are undone and then he’s sticking out his head. ]
Apologies!
(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 06:09 pm (UTC)And so, wordlessly, he reaches in and places his hand on the miqo'te's sides. And if they seem uninjured, he's going to lift G'raha up. Carefully, at first, ready to put him down if he seems pained by it. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 07:12 pm (UTC)Marcel?
[ Ah, there it is. He’s being hefted out of the room through the window. He yelps, ears perking upright and red splashing across his face. ]
M-Marcel!
(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 07:38 pm (UTC)Ah. You are hurt.
[ No apology. He just nods, then starts climbing in through the window. If he can't carry G'raha out of the window without hurting him, he'll just go in. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 08:10 pm (UTC)I-I said I was!
[ But then he’s flouncing to get away from the window with a SLIGHT limp. All so that Marcel can come inside. …And see the mess that is G’raha’s ‘library.’
Which is all over. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 08:32 pm (UTC)You said you were recovered.
[ The bad news: he's still judging not telling him the truth about injuries. He climbs through the window with a practiced ease that suggests he thinks this is a normal way to enter a building.
But ah. G'raha is angry. Which makes sense. He probably shouldn't have tried to pick him up while he was injured. So he doesn't move to touch him again. ]
Let me see.
(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 08:49 pm (UTC)[ Defensive and still flustered, even if he is’t stuttering. But he’s said injuries. Meaning more than one. Later, he will feel bad for allowing Marcel to believe that he’s upset - for ever giving off an air that he is. G’raha isn’t, in truth. ]
So seeing isn’t really necessary.
(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 09:02 pm (UTC)[ He says it like he thinks it's a magic spell. Softly and clearly, making sure to get every syllable correct. Tone utterly unreadable before he falls quiet and still. Unusually so, even for him. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 09:20 pm (UTC)A-all right. If only to reassure that I am fine.
[ Firstly, he pushes back some of his hair. There is a gash above his brow, bandaged with gauze and in a way that his hair would be able to hide it sufficiently.
Marcel can look at that one first. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 09:28 pm (UTC)Satisfied that the cut is, in fact, being cared for properly, he nods. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 09:53 pm (UTC)The other, you will just have to trust me on. [ A chuckle. ] Unless you truly want me to disrobe right here.
[ Nah. Marcel wouldn't make him do that, right? ]
(no subject)
Date: 2022-07-30 10:48 pm (UTC)He considers it. ]
You would rather not. Disrobe?
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From:'tis good to be.
Date: 2022-10-02 08:12 am (UTC)But things have changed in recent moons. Carefully, tentatively, he has tried to allow things to have significance. To notice details. At first, the best he might have managed was that the doors are large. Then, maybe, large and golden. It's slow, difficult progress. But bit by bit he's been teaching himself the language of story. Reclaiming a way of seeing the world that had been stolen from him.
When they last spoke, he might have told the G'raha inside the tower that there had been an obstacle, and now it is overcome. Now, he can tell him about the sound that the doors make as they slowly open, the way that the doors of the tower in the Crystarium open so much more smoothly without metal grinding against stone and the uncomfortable weight of stagnant aether on the air.
But perhaps G'raha will not want to hear about doors. They have all had quite enough of them. Perhaps all that matters is that they were in the way and now they are not.
He holds the soul vessel tighter to his chest as he enters the Tower. It groans to life around him, aether starting to flow through the crystal slowly and achingly, like blood through a deadened limb. He should find G'raha. He will be waking soon, too, and he would rather that he not do so to find himself alone. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2022-10-05 04:48 am (UTC)It almost yawns. Creaks and groans resonate throughout the Tower. Things begin to come back to life, more quickly this time due to the fact that the Tower's rest had been a shorter amount of time than before. Yet it had been some years and there is little to be done about the ambient aether and the way it likely messes with the Viera's senses. As the Crystal Tower begins its processes and moves the aether around, it should level out.
There will be no defenses active along the path that Marcel treads. Even if there were, none would think to stop him. The crystal he bears, that container holding a vital essence of another, is much like a badge of authority around here. Marcel could go where he wishes. Do what he likes. Yet it is with a single-minded determination that seems to carry him onward. It takes him up spiral ramps and teleports, much like it had the first time he had been here. The first time he might not recall in full detail.
G'raha will be found right where the Exarch had parted from Marcel. The Tower hasn't seen fit to wake him just yet. No doubt he will be the very last thing that should. Yet he is there, bracers discarded and tossed off to the side and upon that overly large thrown. It is up there that he sleeps, curled up much like the felines that Miqo'te so do resemble. He is curled into himself, as if to make his body - his form - as small as possible.
One might wonder what he had thought before being pulled under. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2022-10-05 10:12 pm (UTC)His mind tries to tell him he will see all kinds of things, once he steps past the doors of the throne room. The yawning mouth of the void, calling for a pact to be fulfilled. An exhausted scholar refusing to meet his eyes, saying there is still work to be done. A desperate man lashing out in grief. Something small and afraid and exhausted, murmuring apologies to lifeless stones. A man of silent glass. His mind tries to tell him that he will see all of this, and he knows full well that it is lying. He will see the throne room, as he has seen it so many times before. And he will see G'raha Tia.
Even if he never quite expected him to look so small.
He places the soul vessel inside one of the inner pockets of his cloak, safely away from G'raha until he can make the decision for himself. Then clambers up onto the throne. It's massive. Even with G'raha sleeping there, there's room for him to sit next to him.
He would have looked different, when this G'raha last saw him. less scars. The skin of his right arm still mostly smooth instead of a gnarled branch of burns. Countless new scrapes, some small and some massive slices of flesh cut away from his throat. A pale, sickly glow visible in his chest through the cloth of his shirt. Perhaps someone else should have come here. Someone who had changed less, Biggs or Wedge or Rammbroes or Krile.
But he is the one who is here. And it is important that G'raha Tia not wake up alone. And so he sets his burned grey hand upon G'raha's smaller, softer one. And he waits. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2022-10-09 10:36 pm (UTC)Yet the aether in the Tower moves. Systems begin to restore themselves. Processes begin anew. The lights steadily grow brighter and brighter and things begin to stabilize. Marcel will start to feel more at ease as the aether starts to finally flow as it should and even out.
That's when G'raha finally begins to stir. It starts with a gasp, a yawn. One of his ears flick and the tip of his tail twitches. G'raha begins to stretch out. Still groggy and in the works of actually waking up. Of coming into awareness. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2022-10-10 10:21 pm (UTC)The clearing of the aether allows him to think, and he finds that he would rather not. He does not want to wonder what if he doesn't wake up. By the time that G'raha stirs his lungs are burning from holding his breath in anticipation, and the sigh of relief that follows is all the louder for it. He watches his movements with the sort of reverence one might usually reserve for the night sky after a century of daylight. ]
You. Are awake. [ He says it softly. Then goes quiet again. Thoughtful. Trying to find the correct word for this. ] Good.
(no subject)
Date: 2022-10-17 04:40 am (UTC)As he tries to look around the room and make sense of what it is that he is seeing. Even though his eyes fall upon Marcel, they aren't really looking at him. Not quite yet. Seeing that he is there, but not really seeing him. ]
What...
(no subject)
Date: 2022-10-17 09:48 pm (UTC)Hello. My name is Marcel Aan Bestia. It is good to meet you. Thank you.
[ It’s soft and earnest and not entirely the correct way to wake someone. G’raha knows his name. Even if he hasn’t heard it from Marcel himself. So he frowns. Tries again. If he can’t say the correct thing, he will just say all the things until one of them is correct. He tightens his hold on G’raha’s hand, leaning in close. ]
People keep making dolls that look like you. It is very strange. I do not understand why anyone would want these things.
[‘Show him your wind-up G’raha Tia’ is also not correct. ]
Krile is awake. She has missed you. Many people have missed you. [ And then, because he finally realises what he needs to say. ] I have missed you.
(no subject)
Date: 2022-10-24 05:47 am (UTC)Marcel. Dolls? Unwanted dolls... And Krile? Krile. She is not -
Missed. People have missed him. People have missed him. Marcel has missed him. Marcel, who, as he recalls, did not seem to care whether or not G'raha had really been around. But gods! Krile. Krile is awake? She survived? Does that mean -
Wait. Wait wait wait. He's awake. He is awake and that is not meant to be! How had he woken up? How had Marcel managed to get in? There are so many thoughts racing now. Thoughts and questions that do not have apparent answers. ]
H-how... W-when?
[ How are you here Marcel? When is this? How long has it been? G'raha licks his lips, eyes squinting and trying to focus, noticing that his hand is being held by the Viera's. Focusing on that point of contact like it is the only thing on the star that is grounding him. ]
Why?
(no subject)
Date: 2022-12-31 01:47 am (UTC)Questions. Words that exist at the beginnings of questions, at least. He follows G'raha's gaze down to their joined hands, then looks back to his face. It is strange, now. To see skin there, whole, without crystal clawing its way into it.
Why. That was the last question. And so he answers it. ]
I have missed you because you have been here.
[ Possibly not the answer G'raha was looking for. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-02 01:18 am (UTC)Which is. Overwhelming. G'raha hadn't thought that there would really be anyone that would miss him. At least not enough to break into the Tower - and Marcel must have done that. How else could he be here right now? But oh Krile is outside and - ]
You... You woke me. Because you missed me?
[ Not that it answers any of the other questions at all, but. This is the one that Marcel had chosen to answer. So it must be the most important? ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-02 01:45 am (UTC)[ And, unfortunately, he doesn't feel like that needs any qualification at all. So the single word just hangs there for a long moment on the aether-saturated air.
He lets go of G'raha's hand after a moment. Rearranges himself until he is sitting more comfortably, taking a moment to smooth out his skirts. Settling in to speak for longer, rather than following his initial plans to just pick G'raha up and remove him from the tower.
It is strange, speaking with him like this. He seems so much more alive than the Exarch. Yet so much more fragile.
He reaches out his hand again, setting it against the crystal of the throne next to G'raha's. ]
There are. Many things, to explain. But this is- the most important of these things. That I would like you to not be here. And to be where I am, instead.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-02 02:19 am (UTC)Marcel releases his hand and the Miqo'te feels adrift once more. But then he is trying to move as well. As Marcel shifts and adjusts his position, G'raha winces. His muscles feel stiff. So time has passed. It's taking an effort to sit himself up further on the throne to look at Marcel proper in return. ]
Even. [ Talking even takes energy he's not sure he has at the moment. ] Even if that is the case...
[ Because he finds it hard to believe that however this had all been achieved that it had been because G'raha Tia had been desired. Missed. That people would go through all of this simply for him.
There's another reason. There has to be. ]
I chose this. I-it was necessary.
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