[ when was the last time he smiled? maybe when he was twelve, when auguste let him believe his pony was very fast. in any case, whatever is happening on gideon’s face is not appealing. smiling, in general, is uncomfortable both in practice and to witness, especially by those it does not come naturally to. and it clearly does not come naturally to her, or at least the version of smiling that he finds pleasant to look at.
anyway, he is clearly above being bewitched here, and she is just a stupid sword-wielding nun with no control over her emotions. and yet here he sits, unable to leave the theater. unable to leave her. ]
At least you know your expectations are childish. All the good and fair princes die youthfully, sometimes even in heroic ways. [ auguste. the war scene is on now, a chaotic thrash of shadows. ] In case you ever wondered why there are no good and fair kings, that’s why. My brother — he was good and fair, meant to be a true king, but he was slain in battle defending our kingdom, leaving only me, weaker, less honorable, stained where he was untouched. He left me without protection. He was all that I —
[ abruptly, he stops, as if suddenly realizing the depth of the confession spilling from his tongue. his blood chills, panic seizing him, though he remains perfectly still, taut as a wire beside gideon and her ridiculous robes. he can’t breathe. he can’t think. he has never, to anyone, uttered those words aloud. has never allowed himself to, when he’s seen what sort of evil the guise of comfort can bring.
springing to his feet, he strides across the room, drawing his sword and bringing the hilt down to smash into the whirring projector. the pictures cease, the room plunging into silence as the clatter of hooves and trumpets are cut short. his ragged breathing, then, is far too pronounced. ]
I would rather take my chances with the dogs — [ a measured breath, his anger a wild, volatile thing at having been beguiled into such vulnerability ] Than stay here. Will you come? Where are your lodgings?
no subject
anyway, he is clearly above being bewitched here, and she is just a stupid sword-wielding nun with no control over her emotions. and yet here he sits, unable to leave the theater. unable to leave her. ]
At least you know your expectations are childish. All the good and fair princes die youthfully, sometimes even in heroic ways. [ auguste. the war scene is on now, a chaotic thrash of shadows. ] In case you ever wondered why there are no good and fair kings, that’s why. My brother — he was good and fair, meant to be a true king, but he was slain in battle defending our kingdom, leaving only me, weaker, less honorable, stained where he was untouched. He left me without protection. He was all that I —
[ abruptly, he stops, as if suddenly realizing the depth of the confession spilling from his tongue. his blood chills, panic seizing him, though he remains perfectly still, taut as a wire beside gideon and her ridiculous robes. he can’t breathe. he can’t think. he has never, to anyone, uttered those words aloud. has never allowed himself to, when he’s seen what sort of evil the guise of comfort can bring.
springing to his feet, he strides across the room, drawing his sword and bringing the hilt down to smash into the whirring projector. the pictures cease, the room plunging into silence as the clatter of hooves and trumpets are cut short. his ragged breathing, then, is far too pronounced. ]
I would rather take my chances with the dogs — [ a measured breath, his anger a wild, volatile thing at having been beguiled into such vulnerability ] Than stay here. Will you come? Where are your lodgings?