"That we can," Emilia says, her heart slightly mollified to find that she means it.
For the longest time, she couldn't.
She couldn't even trust her own mind and the things it called a memory. But the underworld only gives its subjects two options: be a victim, or be a victor. Time and again, others have attempted to knock her down, to tell her who she is or who they think she should be. So often people will carve words into weapons, but there is only power in them if she listens instead of trusting herself. So he is right. Half-right.
Something about the way Wrathion says this leaves her with a small ache, and she looks up from her diligent work to glance at him once more. "Is that all you trust?"
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For the longest time, she couldn't.
She couldn't even trust her own mind and the things it called a memory. But the underworld only gives its subjects two options: be a victim, or be a victor. Time and again, others have attempted to knock her down, to tell her who she is or who they think she should be. So often people will carve words into weapons, but there is only power in them if she listens instead of trusting herself. So he is right. Half-right.
Something about the way Wrathion says this leaves her with a small ache, and she looks up from her diligent work to glance at him once more. "Is that all you trust?"
After all this time?