[ He almost, almost dismisses her. Sylvie couldn't possibly harbor a monster inside of her, not with all the light she still carries — a light that he feels with her every kind word, with her every touch.
But then he remembers Geiravor, and he remembers how, despite how fiercely she burned, she was afraid of the dark.
Maybe that was even why she burned in the first place. ]
It's big and bulky like a bear, but naked like the young of rats. It's ugly and has sharp claws and it tells me I'll never belong anywhere, to any home, to anyone.
( another long pause. she's staring at the message she just sent, thinking about her brother, then about armand, about armand's home that is her home now, but because she lived so long without anywhere to call her home, it takes time to believe it can be hers, too.
then, she writes - )
Just because we know something to not be true doesn't mean our hearts feel it. Our hearts are silly things, they're easily convinced of the wrong things.
( that's all she writes for some time. just letting him know she's thinking, she's considering, she's trying to make sense of her own muddled thoughts on the matter, filled with bears and brothers and ducky boys.
finally, after almost a whole minute, she continues: )
It's my fear. Of not belonging in Paris. Because if I don't belong here, I don't know where to go. Isn't that sad?
( she hopes he can hear her laughter in that final sentence. she hopes he can hear the nervousness of it. )
[ He appreciates the care she takes to let him know that she isn't outright ignoring him, or that she's upset by his questions. He'd worried that he had been too forward, that this isn't something she wanted to discuss with him; though he, too, hoped she'd realized that he understood her, as different as they seem to be at first glance. Night and day, darkness and light. ]
You could go anywhere.
[ Her husband might not permit it, society might frown upon it, but he believes that she has what it takes to make it anywhere. She's much stronger than she realizes. ]
But I guess that makes two of us.
[ Enlisting had been his attempt to leave and belong elsewhere, but even that fell apart in the most terrible of ways. He's then since thought there's no place for him anywhere — his father can't even marry him off now because no Parisian woman in their circle wants to be burdened by him — and it makes him so angry and frustrated. ]
(you could go anywhere, he says, and she hears eloisa's voice still, talking about england, about shakespeare, about coming to belong to somewhere else, but eloisa hadn't showed up and the train had left without them and since then, sylvie doubts there is anywhere else she could go, really.
that train has left the station.
but she appreciates the sentiment. sometimes, it's nice to dream, right? sometimes it's nice not to live in this reality, however comfortable it feels. loneliness can feel comfortable as well, in its own way. )
Is that your monster, too? What does it look like, can you describe it for me?
Then... Maybe we must embrace that, Hodr. And if we can't embrace our own, we can embrace each other's, don't you think? I'll take your bird, you'll take my naked rat-bear.
( it's the most sincere thing she has ever written, she thinks. she always wanted to hold her brother's fear, but he'd never give it to her. armand carries his own and he carries it well. it's always only been herself and no one to share anything with, the bad, the good, the bad-that-becomes-good. )
Force of habit sends him retreating into the dark, but the raven is there, watching, breathing down his neck. It is made of shadows; shadows cast by his twin's unyielding light, and his father's gleaming gold. He hates it, hates it all.
Is it weakness to want to hold on to the spark of hope Sylvie now provides? With Geiravor he'd been a better man, a better everything — yet they'd both paid a price so terrible, he knows she'll never forgive him for it. He will never forgive himself for it. ]
I can handle a naked rat-bear. At least I don't have to look at it.
[ He should let go. This isn't right, this is only going to bring trouble upon them both. But with Sylvie, he feels seen.
( a pause. it isn't because she doubts he can dance. it's because she wants him to say that he wants her - to teach him, to show him, to learn from her. no one has ever been interested in learning from her before. so, she wants the words. she wants the words from him. )
I think the question is... Do you want me to show you?
[ Why is he suddenly nervous? She probably didn't mean anything by that, just a tease or an attempt to fluster him; Geiravor had liked to do that, delighting when she caught him off-guard by an unexpected declaration or a bold move. ]
( before him, it was eloisa, before eloisa, it was charles, before charles, it was her parents, but her parents were in no position to find anything beyond the bottom of the ocean. sylvie has waited to find herself, too, and while she thinks she's discovered bits and pieces, there's still a whole waiting. she's still working on the faceless, maybe she'll never be done.
armand is the one who comes closest, but armand is looking elsewhere, too, and that's fine, that's dandy. perfectly so.
the truth is, she is so used to waiting to be found, she doesn't quite know what to do with this feeling of someone holding out their hands for her specifically. do you reach back? to you stay put? do you run? )
I'm an expert hide-and-seeker, you should know. It seems, I hide better than anyone.
( that, too, requires patience. to not be found. )
[ He writes and sends the message in a rush, before he second guesses himself and backtracks and makes a decision he'll forever regret. What do you do when someone reaches for you? He probably shouldn't be reaching back and holding on, but, somehow, the darkness pressing against him only makes him more desperate to do so.
He doesn't want to disappear. He wants to be found.
And if she's anything like him, she wants that, too. ]
( she doesn't mean in the literal sense, she doesn't mean with his eyes. she means, will he search for her with his hands and his mind and his understanding? will he try to hold her and comprehend her? that kind of looking. will he? )
[ He knows she doesn't mean the literal kind of looking, but her words still draw a dark chuckle out of him. ]
Yes. Because I will look.
[ Part of him is scared. Not of what he might find, but of losing himself as he searches. It's a weakness he has; he looks so closely that he, too, is transformed by the search.
You say that like it's a bad thing, Geiravor's voice echoes in his head. ]
[ He doesn't know what this is, exactly. But does he need to? Does it even matter? He has her, and she has him. That's more important than anything, he thinks, especially in the kind of world in which they live in.
So he just adds: ] I can't wait to see you.
[ Not 'see you again,' because he hadn't really been seeing. Hadn't really been looking. ]
( it isn't meant jokingly. she wants to look pretty, so she can feel comfortable and so he can feel the comfort off of her. that's how these things spread, after all. )
[ He has a different definition of pretty now. Or, at least, he's ignored the bits he could no longer comprehend in the usual way, though if Baldr were to find out whatever this is that's going on, his brother would say that she was his type anyway. ]
(you feel nice, he means. she knows that's what he is telling her, she is good company, she is fun, she is all the things that make the world turn on its axis. and she knows she likes to be that to him.
it makes her feel more seen than any of the rest could have. )
I can't top that! Aren't you unbelievable?!
But I believe you. I believe I can be that to you.
[ He's relieved that she just... gets him. Even like this, when they're only dealing with words and nothing else. Even more when they're together. It's nice to be seen, for once. ]
You're already more than I could have ever hoped for, Sylvie.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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But then he remembers Geiravor, and he remembers how, despite how fiercely she burned, she was afraid of the dark.
Maybe that was even why she burned in the first place. ]
What is your monster like?
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It's big and bulky like a bear, but naked like the young of rats. It's ugly and has sharp claws and it tells me I'll never belong anywhere, to any home, to anyone.
( another long pause. she's staring at the message she just sent, thinking about her brother, then about armand, about armand's home that is her home now, but because she lived so long without anywhere to call her home, it takes time to believe it can be hers, too.
then, she writes - )
Just because we know something to not be true doesn't mean our hearts feel it. Our hearts are silly things, they're easily convinced of the wrong things.
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You don't seem unhappy with him.
[ Just like how Nanna isn't unhappy with Baldr and had fit into the family like a glove. ]
Is it Paris? [ Not just the place itself, but society and its expectations and demands. Paris had always been hard on royalty. ]
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( that's all she writes for some time. just letting him know she's thinking, she's considering, she's trying to make sense of her own muddled thoughts on the matter, filled with bears and brothers and ducky boys.
finally, after almost a whole minute, she continues: )
It's my fear. Of not belonging in Paris. Because if I don't belong here, I don't know where to go. Isn't that sad?
( she hopes he can hear her laughter in that final sentence. she hopes he can hear the nervousness of it. )
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You could go anywhere.
[ Her husband might not permit it, society might frown upon it, but he believes that she has what it takes to make it anywhere. She's much stronger than she realizes. ]
But I guess that makes two of us.
[ Enlisting had been his attempt to leave and belong elsewhere, but even that fell apart in the most terrible of ways. He's then since thought there's no place for him anywhere — his father can't even marry him off now because no Parisian woman in their circle wants to be burdened by him — and it makes him so angry and frustrated. ]
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that train has left the station.
but she appreciates the sentiment. sometimes, it's nice to dream, right? sometimes it's nice not to live in this reality, however comfortable it feels. loneliness can feel comfortable as well, in its own way. )
Is that your monster, too? What does it look like, can you describe it for me?
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[ Is it any surprise that his monster is shaped like a raven, the sigil of his house? His father's house? ]
It follows me everywhere. Even in the dark.
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( it's the most sincere thing she has ever written, she thinks. she always wanted to hold her brother's fear, but he'd never give it to her. armand carries his own and he carries it well. it's always only been herself and no one to share anything with, the bad, the good, the bad-that-becomes-good. )
Deal?
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Force of habit sends him retreating into the dark, but the raven is there, watching, breathing down his neck. It is made of shadows; shadows cast by his twin's unyielding light, and his father's gleaming gold. He hates it, hates it all.
Is it weakness to want to hold on to the spark of hope Sylvie now provides? With Geiravor he'd been a better man, a better everything — yet they'd both paid a price so terrible, he knows she'll never forgive him for it. He will never forgive himself for it. ]
I can handle a naked rat-bear. At least I don't have to look at it.
[ He should let go. This isn't right, this is only going to bring trouble upon them both. But with Sylvie, he feels seen.
He feels. ]
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And I can teach a black bird to sing. Or, if not sing, then at least dance the Charleston.
( she hopes he, too, will laugh a little at that. not at her, but with her. )
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How about me? Can you teach me?
[ Sure, he knows the steps of the usual dances. It had been part of his education. But dancing in the dark is something new, terrifying even. ]
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I think the question is...
Do you want me to show you?
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[ He understands why she asks, why she feels the need to phrase it that way. They're more alike than they know. ]
Fair warning, though, I am a slow learner. [ Or so his father has repeatedly complained. But he's only slow when he's disinterested. ]
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( he's bright and he's smart, she can tell. nothing gets past him, eyesight or not. she honestly thinks him capable of anything, everything.
but not like charles, not like mighty atlas. something else, something foreign to the ancient greeks. something entirely his own. )
But even if we pretend for a moment... I have patience! I have waited for a long time already.
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[ Why is he suddenly nervous? She probably didn't mean anything by that, just a tease or an attempt to fluster him; Geiravor had liked to do that, delighting when she caught him off-guard by an unexpected declaration or a bold move. ]
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( before him, it was eloisa, before eloisa, it was charles, before charles, it was her parents, but her parents were in no position to find anything beyond the bottom of the ocean. sylvie has waited to find herself, too, and while she thinks she's discovered bits and pieces, there's still a whole waiting. she's still working on the faceless, maybe she'll never be done.
armand is the one who comes closest, but armand is looking elsewhere, too, and that's fine, that's dandy. perfectly so.
the truth is, she is so used to waiting to be found, she doesn't quite know what to do with this feeling of someone holding out their hands for her specifically. do you reach back? to you stay put? do you run? )
I'm an expert hide-and-seeker, you should know. It seems, I hide better than anyone.
( that, too, requires patience. to not be found. )
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Not from me.
[ He writes and sends the message in a rush, before he second guesses himself and backtracks and makes a decision he'll forever regret. What do you do when someone reaches for you? He probably shouldn't be reaching back and holding on, but, somehow, the darkness pressing against him only makes him more desperate to do so.
He doesn't want to disappear. He wants to be found.
And if she's anything like him, she wants that, too. ]
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( she doesn't mean in the literal sense, she doesn't mean with his eyes. she means, will he search for her with his hands and his mind and his understanding? will he try to hold her and comprehend her? that kind of looking. will he? )
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Yes. Because I will look.
[ Part of him is scared. Not of what he might find, but of losing himself as he searches. It's a weakness he has; he looks so closely that he, too, is transformed by the search.
You say that like it's a bad thing, Geiravor's voice echoes in his head. ]
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( that's her promise to him, that if they're going to lose themselves in the search, they're going to do it together.
and are you really lost, when you're lost with someone else? )
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[ He doesn't know what this is, exactly. But does he need to? Does it even matter? He has her, and she has him. That's more important than anything, he thinks, especially in the kind of world in which they live in.
So he just adds: ] I can't wait to see you.
[ Not 'see you again,' because he hadn't really been seeing. Hadn't really been looking. ]
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( it isn't meant jokingly. she wants to look pretty, so she can feel comfortable and so he can feel the comfort off of her. that's how these things spread, after all. )
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[ He has a different definition of pretty now. Or, at least, he's ignored the bits he could no longer comprehend in the usual way, though if Baldr were to find out whatever this is that's going on, his brother would say that she was his type anyway. ]
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it makes her feel more seen than any of the rest could have. )
I can't top that! Aren't you unbelievable?!
But I believe you. I believe I can be that to you.
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[ He's relieved that she just... gets him. Even like this, when they're only dealing with words and nothing else. Even more when they're together. It's nice to be seen, for once. ]
You're already more than I could have ever hoped for, Sylvie.
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