( Emilia is not at her best, and this moment speaks to it. That she should scarcely notice the conclusions others may reach, that she should not scheme to use their flaws to her advantage, where Wangji cannot and does not like to deceive. Opal whimpers her concern, her disquiet — an anguish that has not left her.
Anguish that lingers since the night those eggs hatched.
It froths in Emilia's throat, this sense of wrongness. How it still longs to scrape her from the inside out. Enough of her selfness has been taken. What remains will not be lost so easily. She understands why Wrath refused, understands the rawness of the wound left by the Huntress.
But she looks to Lan Wangji and she gives a nod, heavy with the weight of this darkness. )
I'll need make my own offerings. To my goddesses.
( She clears her throat, touches it with too-cold fingers. ) Somewhere close to the water.
no subject
Anguish that lingers since the night those eggs hatched.
It froths in Emilia's throat, this sense of wrongness. How it still longs to scrape her from the inside out. Enough of her selfness has been taken. What remains will not be lost so easily. She understands why Wrath refused, understands the rawness of the wound left by the Huntress.
But she looks to Lan Wangji and she gives a nod, heavy with the weight of this darkness. )
I'll need make my own offerings. To my goddesses.
( She clears her throat, touches it with too-cold fingers. ) Somewhere close to the water.