[ The voices are nothing new; in fact, they are a dungeon staple in this world. Yelena would like to think that she has had enough practice tuning them out, but today they snake past her defenses to strike at a nerve or two. She isn't here for you, the voices insist, dripping with fake sensitivity. She will leave you again. Everyone does.
The voices persist, variations on a theme designed to pick at her deepest insecurities. As she descends the stairs ahead of Natasha, Yelena is overcome with awareness of her own vulnerability, her mind skipping like a record over the ease with which she could be pushed. She can't help but pick up her pace to put a few more steps between herself and that unlikely yet nagging possibility.
By the time she reaches the bottom of the staircase, Yelena is feeling downright prickly, and not just because she disguised herself in full chain-mail dress, befitting a true devotee of the Chained God. Physical discomfort is more easily ignored than the emotional whirlwind stirred up by their long descent.
Like Natasha, Yelena means to shake it off, but reading the inscription on the door only deepens her dread. Sacrifice. Her eyes dart over to Natasha, reading what she can of her sister's expression in the dim, flickering light. ]
Those chains don't look so secure, [ she observes. It's a hope against hope that they can find a way around, some loophole or other trick, and bypass any notion of sacrifice. ]
no subject
The voices persist, variations on a theme designed to pick at her deepest insecurities. As she descends the stairs ahead of Natasha, Yelena is overcome with awareness of her own vulnerability, her mind skipping like a record over the ease with which she could be pushed. She can't help but pick up her pace to put a few more steps between herself and that unlikely yet nagging possibility.
By the time she reaches the bottom of the staircase, Yelena is feeling downright prickly, and not just because she disguised herself in full chain-mail dress, befitting a true devotee of the Chained God. Physical discomfort is more easily ignored than the emotional whirlwind stirred up by their long descent.
Like Natasha, Yelena means to shake it off, but reading the inscription on the door only deepens her dread. Sacrifice. Her eyes dart over to Natasha, reading what she can of her sister's expression in the dim, flickering light. ]
Those chains don't look so secure, [ she observes. It's a hope against hope that they can find a way around, some loophole or other trick, and bypass any notion of sacrifice. ]