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25.03.2024, 00:28
A smile creeps on your face. You can't help it. Here's the thing: you're not very good at this. Not the part where you knock out a hobgoblin or topple someone with your staff. You're good with that because that's what your life's consisted of. Waking up, studying, training, studying, eating, training, studying, going to bed (or in your case: reading another book beyond your bedtime). There weren't many children at your sanctuary. Just a few you've grown up with. So you never really had to make friends. They were family. Now you're here and - you chuckle at the thought that they could miss you. You hardly doubt they'll even notice you're gone. There are so many people that know how to take up space - and those who don't and do so anyway. You're pretty sure you're just a thought slipping through every now and then.
It's fine.
You say softly then while moving towards the entrance. You mean it. It's fine. You don't want any more than that. And you certainly don't want to talk about it. You'd rather just get away. Not from them. It's the dead goblins on the ground. It's the pool of blood. The feeling of warmth dripping down your fingertips despite there being nothing.
You're not good at making friends.
And you're even worse at killing people.
The guilt's a heavy one to carry around.
After a while when you've left most of the noise behind you and it's just nature greeting you, birds chirping and bees buzzing around, you dare to break the silence.
Forgive me my curiosity, Halsin, I mean no disrespect. (brief pause) How did they manage to seize you?
You can't help but watch him from your side. He's quite big. Even bigger as a bear. Goblins - well, they are not. You try not to be obvious about it. Still not sure how well you're managing keeping your facial expressions composed. You've never met so many people who aren't well versed in carrying their feelings on their tongues. And more than once you've been met with amusement when you've let your expressions slip or your words tumble. Just another thing you're trying to adjust to.
Nouzin
You say softly then while moving towards the entrance. You mean it. It's fine. You don't want any more than that. And you certainly don't want to talk about it. You'd rather just get away. Not from them. It's the dead goblins on the ground. It's the pool of blood. The feeling of warmth dripping down your fingertips despite there being nothing.
You're not good at making friends.
And you're even worse at killing people.
The guilt's a heavy one to carry around.
After a while when you've left most of the noise behind you and it's just nature greeting you, birds chirping and bees buzzing around, you dare to break the silence.
Nouzin